Tardis in the Bunker
by CrosserX
Summary: What do the Winchesters, the Doctor, and a Consulting Detective have in common? One man: Jim Moriarty. And who connects them all? Why, the King of Hell of course! Mix in a little chaos from a Knight of Hell and an unbalanced Time Lord, and who knows what chaos will ensue! While we're at it, let's throw in an immortal captain, a mysterious Woman, and a couple of unicorns!
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! So this is my first Superwholock story, I hope you like it! Please rate and review! **

**So this takes place:**

**Right after "His Last Vow."**

**A few months after "Soul Survivor." **

**A few months after "The Name of the Doctor."**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Clara rubbed her eyes sleepily as she trumped down the many staircases, wrapped in a blanket. She came to the console and stopped, glaring at it.<p>

"Where. Is it. Now?" Clara growled.

The console beeped a few times, and Clara sneered.

"This isn't _funny_ anymore! You do this _every _Thursday and, quite frankly, it's getting old!"

The console beeped again.

"Put my bedroom back!" Clara pleaded. "I'm exhausted. This isn't fair!"

The TARDIS was silent.

"Fine," Clara snapped, curling up in one of the chairs. "You win. I give up."

She was finally dozing with a high pitched beeping went off, and red lights flashed across the console. Clara frowned and sat up. "What's the matter with you?"

The Doctor appeared from a hall quickly, sliding into the control room. "What's the matter with you?" he muttered.

"She just started beeping and flashing," Clara said, standing.

The Doctor spun around, startled. "Clara! What are you doing out here? Why aren't you asleep?"

"It's Thursday," Clara growled.

"Ah," the Doctor said sheepishly. "Right. I've been meaning to . . . well why can't you two get along?!"

"Me?" Clara exclaimed. "Ask _her_, she started it!"

The beeping stopped, and all the screens on the console turned on, staticy and bright. Disoriented words became longer and louder, until it became clear, the same sentence over and over again.

"Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?"

"No," the Doctor said, looking at the static in shock, fear on his face.

"Doctor, what is it?" Clara asked, joining him. "What's happening?"

"Moriarty," The Doctor muttered, flipping a control.

"What's a Moriarty?" Clara frowned.

"Not a what," the Doctor said, flipping another switch to reveal a young mans face on all of the screens. "It's a who." He stared at the screens, almost as though in denial. Clara shook his arm. "Doctor?"

The Doctor stormed across the control room, hitting a speaker button and dialing three numbers that Clara didn't catch as she went to stand beside him.

There was a ringing sound, and then a grumpy, gruff voice. "Who is this?"

"Is it you?" The Doctor demanded, his voice dangerous. "Did you do this?"

There was a pause. "Is this who I think it is?"

"Is it _you_?"

"Is _what_ me? I haven't done anything!"

"Turn on the telly."

There was a fumbling noise from the other line, and then the voice, sounding shocked, barking orders to someone.

". . . get over to London_ right now_ and get to the bottom of this!" He was yelling harshly. "No stone unturned, do you understand? You find him and you bring him to me!" He was back with the Doctor. "When did this happen?"

"Just moments ago," the Doctor said.

"How?"

"Why the hell would I call you if I had any idea?!"

"Fag and a chat?" The voice sounded disgruntled. "I'm at 452 Kings Road in Napa Vally, California."

The Doctor flipped a few switches and pulled a lever. "Clara, go get dressed."

Clara nodded and ran off, turning back to look at the TARDIS. "My bedroom better be in place!"

Thankfully, it was, and Clara was able to dress in a brown sweater dress, tights, and boots. She ran a brush through her hair and pulled on an olive-colored fleece jacket before joining the Doctor again. He was waiting for her, and she looked on at him with curiosity.

"What's going on?" she demanded, not liking how nervous the Doctor looked.

"Stay near to me – right next to me at all times," the Doctor said quickly, taking her hand. "Do not wander off, don't touch anything, and do not – _do not_ – perceive anything anyone says as true. Except for me."

"Yeah, okay," Clara said, her brows furrowed, looking at her hand in the Doctors. "What're –?"

"This won't hurt," the Doctor said, rolling up her sleeve and giving her a shot in her upper arm.

"_Ouch_!"

"I lied."

Clara rubbed her arm, rolling her sleeve down. "What was that for?"

"Do you trust me?"

"Well, I did, until you jabbed a needle in my arm," she grumbled. The Doctor didn't look amused, and Clara raised her eyebrows. "Yes, of course! Doctor, tell me what's happening."

"Stay. Close."

The Doctor opened the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Clara didn't know what she was expecting. Perhaps a grungy, dimly lit basement or some creepy, freezing forest.

She certainly wasn't expecting a tastefully decorated office with a view of rolling vineyards.

Yet here she was, standing on an extremely expensive oriental rug, surrounded by beautiful antique furniture, books that ranged from all time periods, and a large mahogany desk.

The Doctor looked very nervous, and was fiddling with his screwdriver. Clara didn't understand. What was so scary about what seemed to be a businessman's office?

A large, wooden door opened, and a man entered – Clara didn't see anything so scary about him either. He was on the short side, with thinning black hair and a beard peppered with silver. He wore what had to be a very expensive suit and looked, all and all, not in the least bit threatening.

"Doctor," he greeted with a smile, spreading his hands as though saying hello to an old friend. "New look? It suits you."

"Crowley," the Doctor grumbled, glaring at the man with ferocity.

The man called Crowley turned his attention to Clara. "And who might this lovely young woman be?" he asked, lifting her hand and kissing it softly. Clara smiled and flushed – it was an old fashioned gesture, but still always appreciated.

"Don't touch her," the Doctor said in a threatening manner.

Clara was astonished – why was the Doctor, usually so relaxed and friendly, being so rude to someone who seemed to be such a gentleman? She flushed in anger and said, "Doctor, don't be rude!" She looked back to Crowley. "Sorry. Clara Oswald."

"It's a pleasure, Clara Oswald," Crowley said with a smirk, looking a bit smug. He released her hand, straightening and looking at the Doctor.

"Enough," the Doctor glared at them both. "You know why I'm here."

"Of course," Crowley said with a nod. "If you'll follow me. Oh, I'm sorry, miss Oswald," he added as Clara started to follow. "But you'll have to stay here. Very tight security."

"She goes where I go," the Doctor said lowly.

"It's alright, Doctor," Clara sighed, eager to get him out of here – she didn't like the way he was acting. "You go take care of whatever you need, I'll just wait here."

The Doctor stared at Crowley accusingly. "Laced with holy water," he muttered darkly.

Crowley smirked. "Of course, I'd expect nothing else. I assure you she'll be perfectly safe here."

The Doctor looked at Clara. "I'll be right back," he told her. "Stay here, you got it? Promise?"

"Promise," Clara said, confused, and the Doctor sighed before following Crowley out.

Clara sighed, leaning on the desk. She tapped her fingers, swung her feet, and stared at the clock. With a heavy sigh she examined the books on the shelf. She ran her fingers across them, smiling at the large collection. She frowned, though, when she noticed one book in particular – it seemed to be a how-to guide, different than the other dictionaries and hand written books on the shelf. The title on the spine said "Moose Hunting and the Proper way to go about it." Clara frowned, pulling the book off the shelf, and squeaked in surprise when the entire shelf swung open, revealing a dimly lit hallway.

Clara looked over her shoulder, biting her lip. Technically, she wasn't leaving the room – just going farther into it. She entered the hall, squinting at the harsh fluorescent lights and wrinkling her nose at the smell of something coppery. She followed the hallway to a large, heavy metal door. Carefully, she pulled the door open, pushing her way into the room. It was cold in the room, and the copper smell was getting much stronger.

Clara rounded a corner and gasped.

A young man sat slumped forward in a chair, his head hanging forward. Blood was splattered on the floor around him, on his jeans, on his shirt. His hands seemed to be bound behind him, and Clara was horrified to see a table to the right of the room holding terrible things – knives, blades, blunt objects, some caked with blood.

Clara shook herself out of her shock and rushed forward, leaning in front of him. "Hey, can you hear me?" She asked, lifting his head.

He blinked, staring into her face. He was conscious. His lip was busted and his eyes were bruised. The side of his head was bleeding, running into his long brown hair.

"Can you hear me?" Clara asked again, examining him in panic. "Do you understand?"

"Lady, you gotta get out of here," he told her, and Clara realized he was American.

"What, and leave you here?" Clara demanded, frowning. "What kind of person would that make me?" She went around him, examining his bloody wrists, which were cuffed together. She quickly pulled a bobby pin from her bangs and wiggled it into the keyhole, working it against the locking mechanism until the cuffs finally clicked open.

"Thanks," the man said, rubbing his chaffed wrists. He nodded at the bobby-pin. "Neat trick."

"Youtube," Clara nodded, looking proud. Her eyes widened as he stood – he towered above her. "Wow," she breathed. "You are . . . really tall."

He chuckled, pushing his hair out of his face. Then he got serious. "We have to get out of here. What's your name?"

"Clara."

"Sam," he nodded, and headed for the door.

"Who did this to you?" Clara asked, following him into the hallway.

He clenched his jaw. "Doesn't matter. What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I was just here with a friend," Clara explained, heading back towards the bookcase. "He had a meeting with this guy he knows –" She stopped, frowning again, and looked at him as something dawned upon her. "Why is there a torture chamber hidden behind Mr. Crowley's office?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Is Crowley here right now?" he demanded.

"No, my friend went off with him, there was some emergency. They don't seem to especially like each other, but I don't think my friend had a choice but to meet with him."

"Yeah, well, Crowley is like that," Sam said, pushing the bookcase open.

Clara tilted her head as they rushed back into the office. Sam stopped, staring in confusion at the large, blue police box for a moment before heading for the desk.

"Did this Crowley man – was he the one who did this to you?" Clara asked, frowning.

Sam looked over his shoulder at her, gave a curt nod. "Yeah." He leaned in front of Crowley's desk, opening a bottom drawer. Sam took a gun and stuck it in the back of his jeans, and then he pulled an odd looking knife from the drawer. He examined it before sheathing it and sticking it on his belt.

"Sam, you're seriously hurt," Clara said, examining his wounds as he crouched. "We've got to get you to a hospital."

"It's fine," he said, unconcerned. "Right now we just have to get out of here without being caught."

Footsteps were heard in the hall, and Clara's eyes widened. "Come here!" she hissed, grabbing Sam by the arm and yanking him towards the TARDIS. "They're coming back!" She opened the TARDIS door and shoved him inside, following and shutting the door behind her.

Sam was staring around him in shock and awe. He took a step forward. "What . . .?"

"Yeah, it's bigger on the inside," Clara said, pushing him down into the chair she had slept on earlier that morning. She leaned in front of him, looking him in the eyes. "Spaceship, time machine, aliens. You okay with that?"

Sam looked at her like she was insane.

"Good," Clara said. "Great." She stood and headed for the door. "Just, stay here, okay? Don't move!"

"Clara?" the Doctor called from outside the TARDIS.

Clara rushed out. "Sorry, what's up?" She asked, looking from the Doctor to Crowley and back.

The Doctor frowned. "Where were you?"

"Had to pop to the lou," Clara said breathlessly. "Took me a while, she hid it."

The Doctor looked mildly amused. "We're done here, are you ready to leave?"

"Yeah," Clara said, nodding several times. "Yeah, let's, um, let's get going."

Crowley narrowed his eyes. "Alright, love?"

"Yeah," Clara said. "Fine. Great. But listen, Doctor, we have to get to that, um, thing."

"Oh yes!" the Doctor said, acting as though he had just remembered something important. "The thing!" He looked at Crowley. "I trust you'll call if you get any information?"

Crowley still looked suspicious, but nodded.

"Well, then, till next time," the Doctor nodded, being pulled into the TARDIS by Clara.


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley sat at his desk, examining a report that had just come in from his field operatives. His phone chimed, and he looked at the read out, smiling. "Not Moose."

"Dean," he said, answering the phone. "Long time no see."

"Where is he, Crowley?"

Crowley played with a pen. "Sorry?"

"Cut the crap, you douchebag, I know you nabbed him. What, are you pissed that I ripped our friendship bracelets up or something?"

"Heard you were back to, well, you," Crowley said disdainfully.

"Where is he?"

Crowley smirked. "Why, he's right here, of course," Crowley said. "In his own private five star hotel room."

"Crowley, you son of a bitch. What's in it for you?"

"Kicks and giggles," Crowley retorted. "None of your business, Squirrel. Maybe I've just decided to do away with the great oaf."

"You won't kill him, Crowley. We both know it."

"You're right," Crowley admitted. "But he's a walking encyclopedia of interesting facts. I'm sure a few of those could come in handy."

"I want to talk to him."

"Why?"

"Because for all I know Sam could be safe and sound somewhere underground and you could be bluffing."

Crowley rolled his eyes as he entered the cell. "Fine, you want to talk to –"

He stopped, dropping the phone.

The Moose was gone.

* * *

><p>"I think your face took the worst of it."<p>

Clara dabbed a piece of cloth in warm water before stroking it over a cut above Sams eyes. All and all, he was taking it very well, though Clara knew it must have hurt. Some of the cuts were deep and in need of stitches, some infected.

"How long did he have you there?" She murmured, gently brushing over his swollen eye.

"Few days," Sam said, squinting a little in pain. "I lost track."

"Take off your shirt."

Sam frowned. "What?"

Clara nodded at his chest. "Your shirt, take it off. I need to clean the cuts on your back and torso."

Sam began to lift his shirt, wincing a bit – his shoulder was throbbing in pain.

"Let me," Clara said, lifting the shirt off and tossing it aside. She examined his shoulder.

"You've got one hell of a bruise," she said, frowning. "But it's not dislocated."

As she applied some ointment to a cut on his right bicep, she nodded at his tattoo. "What does it mean?"

"Keeps demons from possessing me," Sam said, looking totally serious.

Clara smirked. "So you don't know?"

Sam laughed, and Clara applied a bandage to his cut. "That should do it for now," she said. "But I still think you should get stitches."

"Here you go," The Doctor said, walking into the console room and tossing a green t-shirt to Sam. "That should fit you."

Sam nodded his thanks and pulled the shirt on. Then he looked around again. "So this is an actual spaceship, huh?"

"Yeah," Clara grinned, sitting on the railing. "And you're taking it really well."

"Uh," Sam smiled, a nice smile that was relaxed and friendly. "I'm kinda used to this stuff."

Cara tilted her head. "You mentioned demons."

"Yeah."

"Is Crowley a demon?"

Sam looked exhausted. "King of Hell. Yeah."

"King of Hell?" The Doctor exclaimed. "What happened to the crossroads?"

"He promoted himself," Sam said dryly.

"So demons are real," Clara said, frowning. "What else?"

"Angels, vampires, werewolves," the Doctor said nonchalantly. "All of the good stuff."

"Angels?" Clara asked. "You mean like –"

"No, these are slightly more pleasant," the Doctor assured her. He looked at Sam. "Where can I drop you, mate?"

"You know where Kansas is?"

"I can figure it out."

* * *

><p>They parked the TARDIS behind an old warehouse, next to an old junker car.<p>

"I have to drive the rest of the way," Sam explained. He nodded. "Hey, Clara. Thank you."

"What? We're not leaving," Clara said.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "You're not?"

"We're not?" the Doctor asked.

Clara glared at the Doctor. "We have to help Sam," she insisted. "Crowley might come after him again."

"Really, that's not necessary –"

Clara silenced Sam with a look and got in the passenger seat of the car.

The Doctor sighed, getting in the back.

Sam looked a little confused but shrugged, getting into the driver's seat and starting the car.

They drove for a half hour in awkward silence. Sam would occasionally roll his shoulder, looking pained. The Doctor would sigh in boredom. Clara just stared out the window.

Eventually, Sam stopped outside an abandoned looking building. The three got out of the car and Sam opened the door, only to be greeted with a face full of water.

Clara gasped as she was also doused in water, and the Doctor sighed, looking a bit annoyed. "_Really_?"

"Where have you been?" a man, slightly older than Sam, had gripped Sam by the shoulders and was shaking him. "I was worried sick! I thought Crowley had you, man."

"He did," Sam said. He nodded at Clara. "This is Clara. She got me out."

"Hi," she said, waving politely at the rough looking man – when she looked into his eyes, though, they were hard, yes, but not the cold stony eyes of a killer.

The man shook his head, looking at them. "You woulda been done for, Sam. No way was I getting you back out of any deal. Whatever Crowley's into, he's worried and I don't think he can get out of it." He jerked his head at the downstairs area. "We were just looking for a way to find you ourselves." He ran a hand through his hair, looking stressed, and looked Sam in the eyes. "No more solo missions. Got it?"

Sam smiled a bit. "Dean, I'm fine."

"Yeah, this time," Dean snapped. He jerked his head at the Doctor. "Who's the guy wearing the bow?"

"I'm the Doctor," the Doctor said proudly.

"Alien," Sam said.

Dean looked at him. "Yeah, okay, Sammy. Listen man, you've been through a lot, how about you go grab some shut eye?"

"Dean, I'm serious. He brought me back here on his ship," Sam said. "He's a Time Lord. Remember, I showed you the story on them in that Men of Letters book?"

"Yeah, and it was a fairytale."

"Apparently not."

Dean shook his head and pointed at Clara. "Her?"

"Hundred percent human," Clara said.

"So, what? Are we running a group home for freaks now?" Dean asked, and Clara laughed, though the Doctor looked slightly offended.

"Did Cas get here okay?" Sam asked, ignoring Dean.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, we're all downstairs. Good thing for you, too," he said, leading them downstairs. "Cause you look like total crap. Hey, Cas!"

A man in a long trench coat turned around from where he was scanning a book. "Sam," he said, surprised. "You're here."

"Hey, Cas," Sam grinned.

The man called Cas frowned, lifting his hand and pressing it against Sams forehead. There was a bright light, and Clara looked away. When she looked back, she was shocked to see Sam was all healed up – and gorgeous beneath all that blood and puffiness.

"Thanks," Sam nodded.

"You should be more careful," the man said gruffly. He examined the newcomers, his eyes lingering on the Doctor. "Who are they?"

"Hullo, I'm the Doctor," the Doctor said, holding out his hand.

Cas looked at it but didn't take it. "You're not human."

"Neither are you."

"I'm an angel."

"Well that's a bit much, don't you think?"

"What are you?"

"Time Lord."

"That's impossible. The Time Lords died out thousands of years ago."

"And yet here I am. Tell him, Clara."

"Huh?" Clara asked, jerking her gaze away from Sam's face. "Oh, yeah. Timelord, right. Sorry, but, what is this place?"

"It's currently serving as our base," Sam explained. "It's got books and tools for hunting, and living quarters."

"And a dungeon," Dean supplied.

Everyone looked at him, and he shrugged. "What?" he asked innocently. "It's cool."


	4. Chapter 4

A dart hit the yellow smiley face dead in the center, the point embedding itself in the wall. Another one followed, not a centimeter from the other. Then, perfectly, another one landed right between them.

Mycroft sighed as his younger brother walked over the coffee table, collecting the darts.

"Sherlock –" he began, only to be cut off.

"Be quiet, Mycroft, I was doing quite well at pretending you weren't here," Sherlock replied, aiming and tossing the dart. It hit the exact spot it had before.

Mycroft looked disgusted and looked at John, who ran a hand over his face.

"Sherlock, listen," his friend began.

"What is it with you people and your need to speak?" Sherlock demanded, grabbing the darts from the wall again.

John stood and took the darts, slamming them down on the desk. "We've watched you throw darts at the wall for the past three hours, Mrs. Hudson is going to be irate when she sees her wall."

"I highly doubt it, I've been hitting the same three spots since I started –"

"Stop. Just stop," John said, glaring. "We have to talk about this."

Sherlock glared back for a moment before walking towards the window. "There is nothing to talk about," he said, picking up his violin.

"Now don't you start that!" Mycroft insisted, standing.

"Please, Mycroft, remind me why you are here?" Sherlock snipped, running his bow across the violin a few times, creating a high pitched whine.

Mycroft flinched. "Have you forgotten that I've just got you out of exile?"

"Well how can I forget it when you mention it every eight minutes?"

"You said he put the gun in his mouth."

"Yes."

"He pulled the trigger."

"Correct."

"Then what the hell is he doing on every screen in London?!" Mycroft exclaimed.

"Making quite the scene, for one thing."

The three men turned around, seeing another man standing in the doorway.

"Sorry," the man said, not looking sorry at all. "Door was open."

"No it wasn't," Sherlock said, sitting. "What do you want?"

"The name's Crowley. And I'm here because of Jim Moriarty."

"Are you an associate of his?" Mycroft asked.

Crowley snorted. "No. Definitely not."

Sherlock's eyes examined Crowley expertly. Unkept beard, he obviously wasn't used to having one, it most likely was being neglected due to lack of time. Expensive suit, no matter to him, he could obviously afford it. He carried himself with an almost regal air, so most likely head of a large company or millionaire. His cold, dark eyes seemed bored, and possibly a bit amused, and they were boring straight into Sherlocks.

"Have you finished?" Crowley asked, raising his eyebrows.

Sherlock kept a calm front, but inside he was trying to register something about this man. Something was off, definitely not proper. Almost unhuman.

"Have we met?" Sherlock asked, his eyes never leaving the other mans.

"Perhaps at different place and under other circumstances, but that hardly matters," Crowley said smoothly.

"Why are you here?" Sherlock asked now, feeling like he had an itch he just couldn't scratch.

"Because we're all in the same boat here," Crowley said. "We've all been screwed over by Jim Moriarty."

"What business have you got with Moriarty?" Mycroft demanded.

Crowley cut his eyes to Mycroft. "Sorry, love, and you are?"

"He's no one," Sherlock brushed it off. "Tell me about Moriarty."

Crowley took a seat, looking around the flat for a moment before resting his eyes on Sherlock. "I'm a businessman, Mr. Holmes. I make deals for a living. And when I get screwed over in a deal, I lose . . . profit."

"And you made a deal with Moriarty."

"That's right."

"What was the deal?"

"Well, it would be unprofessional for me to reveal all of my secrets, wouldn't it?" Crowley asked, amused. He stood. "I've got another meeting, but I'd like to work with you on this Moriarty thing."

"With?" John frowned, speaking up for the first time.

"A big job takes the big boss, Mr. Watson," Crowley confirmed as he started for the door. "Oh, and, I would appreciate it if you kept all of this out of the blogs."

"One last thing, Mr. Crowley," Sherlock said, walking to the door and looking down at the man for a long moment. "What are you?"

Crowley smirked, a little 'aha, so you caught me' grin. He winked, snapped his fingers, and was gone.

"What did he – what did he just do?" John demanded, starring wide eyed at the spot where Crowley had just been standing.

Sherlock looked at Mycroft. "This is much bigger than we thought."

"Oh yes," Mycroft said, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. "I suppose I'll make the calls, then? How many plane tickets?"

"Just two," Sherlock said, returning to his violin. "John and I will be taking care of this."

"Taking care of – what?" John demanded, dumbfounded. "That man just disappeared and you two are discussing plane tickets? Tickets to where?"

"Kansas," Mycroft said, holding his cell phone to his ear. "Yes, this is Mycroft Holmes. Identification number 5-7-3-9-1-1-4. Codeword: Lawrence." He paused for a moment. "Name?" he thought for a moment. "Put me through to Dean Winchester."

* * *

><p>There was a pounding on the door of the bunker, and Dean rolled out of bed, annoyed and exhausted. Who could it be? Sam was down the hall in his room, showering. Castiel was off doing, well, Castiel things, and Hannah and Clara were pouring over books. The Doctor guy – whoever the hell he was – had wandered off to explore the bunker.<p>

So who else knew where they were?

Dean pulled the safety back on his gun, opening the door of the bunker a crack.

The door was shoved open and a girl pushed past Dean, a whirlwind of red hair and nervous, moving hands.

"I'm sorry, I totally didn't mean it, it just kinda shocked me so I put him through, I swear though he can't get your location. I totally made sure of that. But he may be able to hack into your systems, I'm so sorry!"

"Charlie?" Dean frowned, stowing his gun. "What the hell are you talking about? When did you get back?"

The laptop on the tables screen flickered, and Clara frowned. "Uh, guys?"

Dean marched over to the laptop, turning it to face him. On the webcam was a middle aged man, looking slightly impatient and disgruntled.

"The hell?" Dean muttered, looking at the screen. "Uh, who are you?"

"My name is Mycroft Holmes," the man said, his face annoyed.

"Right," Dean nodded, confused. "How'd you, you know. Get on our computer?"

"Totally my fault," Charlie said. "I redirected any calls with a certain number code and password to come in to me –"

"What?" Dean frowned.

"A certain code and password can access files on how to reach you," Charlie said, like it was obvious.

"Well, how'd you get it?"

"It's in the books," Charlie said impatiently.

"Son of a bitch. I hate those things."

"Anyway, he got directed to me and while he kept me talking he sucked some of the information I have on your guys from my computer. I stopped him in time to keep your location safe, though, I think."

"Not that it matters, I could easily find you if I chose to do so," Mycroft said. "But that's not what I'm contacting you about. This is a, ahem, call concerning your particular career field."

"Sorry," Clara said, pushing past Dean and Charlie and gazing at the computer. "Mycroft, you're Mycroft Holmes. Oh my God."

"Who is this man?" Hannah demanded, trying to get in to see the strange man as well.

"He works on some political stuff back in England," Clara explained briefly.

Mycroft frowned. "Well, I wouldn't call it 'political stuff' . . ."

"What's going on?" Sam asked, joining them, looking at Dean and then Clara with a confused expression.

"My lord, how many people have you got in there?" Mycroft exclaimed. "Can I please get to the point here?"

Everyone quieted down, looking expectantly at the screen.

"Thank you," Mycroft huffed. "Now, I'm sure this will sound odd, of course, but it's about this fellow, Moriarty –"

"Moriarty," Clara frowned. "That's the name of the man we met with Mr. Crowley about."

"Mr. Crowley?" Mycroft asked, looking surprised. "You're familiar with him?"

"Well, not me in particular, but my friend –"

"We know Crowley, what's he got to do with this?" Dean interrupted, crossing his arms.

Clara glared, and muttered "Rude", making Sam smirk a bit before returning to a more serious manner.

"Well, he apparently had a deal with this Moriarty fellow –"

"What's all the hullabaloo?" The Doctor asked, sliding down the banister and joining the group.

Charlie's eyes widened. "You . . . you're . . . you're the . . ."

"Hullo!" he waved at her, turning to the computer. "Mycroft!" he exclaimed, a smile breaking out across his face.

"Doctor?" Mycroft looked confused. "What on earth are you doing there?"

"We heard about all this Moriarty business and I went to meet with someone who knew a thing or two about it . . ."

"Crowley?" Mycroft frowned.

"You know him? Not the sort of bloke I'd think you to have tea with, Mycroft."

"Just met him today, is he trustworthy?"

Dean snorted, "No!"

And at the same time Sam said, "Depends."

Clara looked at Sam as though he were insane. "What? Are you mad? He kidnapped and tortured you!"

"Well, yeah, he's a dick, but if something is a big enough deal for him to track down all these various people, something is up," Sam explained. "He wants something, and he won't double-cross you – until it's over, that is."

"You are mad," Clara said faintly.

"Who is he?" Mycroft demanded. "Obviously we know what he is, but who . . .?"

Sam and Dean looked at each other, and shrugged. "He's the King of Hell."

"King of – what happened the prior arrangement?"

"He didn't like it, so he changed it," Castiel said, suddenly appearing behind the group.

"For the love of God, boy, how many more have you got in there?" Mycroft exclaimed. He shook his head. "This is a serious matter! Now, if this Crowley man has anything to do with Moriarty, it is the utmost importance! You need to get to the bottom of this!"

"Who is this Moriarty man?" Hannah asked.

"An insane mass murderer, for one," the Doctor said. "And a genius."

"The two of them having anything to do with each other? Sounds crappy," Dean said.

"Which is why we need to know exactly what this Crowley man knows!" Mycroft exclaimed.

"I'll go," Sam said, and Dean looked at him with a mixture of anger and possibly fear.

"What're you, nuts?" he growled. "No more solo missions, remember?"

"I'll go too," Clara said, standing by Sam.

"Absolutely not," the Doctor said firmly.

"Yeah, I'm with the Doc on this," Dean said. "You two are going to be the people he'll be least happy to see. You just escaped from him, and you helped," he said, pointing at Sam and then Clara.

"Exactly," Sam said. "Look, we'll lure him out, but once we get him talking you know he's going to be interested, Dean. He's not going to show up if a whole army goes out looking for him."

"He has a point, Dean," Castiel said, and Dean glared at Cas.

"No."

"Dean," Sam said, sighing. "We can't let Crowley and some psycho murderer run around loose at the same time. We've gotta do something about this."

"This is not a good idea!" the Doctor interjected. "Clara, you'll go nowhere!"

"Bugger off, you can't make me stay," Clara snapped. "You always get to be the hero, let someone else have a chance, yeah?"

Shocked, everyone was silent, and Clara looked at Sam. "What're we waiting for, then? Let's go!"


	5. Chapter 5

Sam cut his eyes to Clara, who was sitting in the front seat of the Impala as they made their way down the deserted highway. She looked very calm, relaxed even, as she enjoyed the scenery.

"That, uh," Sam started. "That was pretty intense back there, standing up to your friend like that."

Clara smirked a bit, shrugging. "Sometimes he needs to be reminded he's not the only one who can fix everything. He'll pout for a few hours and get over it."

Sam chuckled. "Dean is kinda like that," he said. "He holds a grudge really hard, until he needs something."

Clara tilted her head. "So Dean, he's your . . . brother?" she guessed, and Sam nodded. Clara nodded, too. "It makes sense. He obviously cares a lot about you. And the other man, the one who says he's an angel?"

"Castiel," Sam supplied.

"Right," Clara said. "Is he your brother, too?"

Sam shook his head. "Well, not technically. I guess he might as well be by now. We've gone through a lot together, the three of us."

Clara nodded. "Okay. And the woman angel, Hannah, she's Castiel's girlfriend?" she guessed, taking a shot in the dark, and Sam laughed.

"We're not sure about Cas and Hannah," Sam explained. "Cas kinda had an . . . . interest in this other woman a while back, and I'm not totally sure he's over it."

"Alright," Clara nodded. "There's a lot of people to get straight here," she laughed. She bit her lip. "And Charlie," she said nonchalantly, looking at Sam. "She's . . .?"

"Charlie is a really good friend," Sam replied. "She's been gone for a while, actually. We were all surprised to see her back."

"Right," Clara said, looking around a bit, blushing. "Are you and her . . .?"

Sam laughed. "Uh, no. No, we're not. I, uh, think she was actually looking at you."

"At me? Why?" Clara frowned, and then she turned an even deeper red. "Oh . . ."

Sam grinned. "Yeah," he laughed, and Clara laughed too.

After a few moments, Sam asked, "Are you and the Doctor . . .?"

"Oh, no!" Clara said quickly. "No, nothing like that. We're just friends. Traveling buddies, you know. He had someone once, or still might . . . it's all very confusing," she laughed nervously.

Sam nodded. They were silent for a while, and then Sam said, "Listen, thanks again. I don't know if I could have gotten out of that myself."

"How'd you end up there, anyway?" Clara frowned. "What did Crowley want with you?"

Sam sighed. "I actually don't know this time. A few months ago Dean . . . well, he wasn't Dean. Him and Crowley, um, worked together for a while, but then Cas and I fixed Dean and didn't hear anything from Crowley for a few months. Dean and I separated on a hunt a few weeks ago and I got nabbed while we were away for each other."

"So Crowley just captured you for no apparent reason?" Clara frowned.

"He's always got a reason," Sam said darkly. "But while he waited, he knows I've got some . . . you know, information. Stuff I've learned that could be useful."

"But really, torture. It seems so . . . I don't know, extreme."

Sam shrugged again. "He's tortured all of us at least once, pretty much."

Clara swallowed, feeling a bit sick.

"But anyway," Sam said, quickly changing the subject at her paling face. "Thanks."

"No problem," she said.

"If you ever need anything," Sam started awkwardly. "I mean, if I can ever do anything to thank you . . ."

"Oh, it was nothing," Clara muttered, blushing.

"This is very sweet, I hate to interrupt," said a voice from the backseat.

Sam slammed on the breaks, grabbing his gun. Crowley snapped his fingers, and the gun blazed red hot, forcing Sam to drop it.

Clara reached for her cell phone, to send the Doctor the signal the promised she would send when they made contact.

"Ahem." Crowley held her phone up. "Looking for this, darling?"

Clara gasped angrily. "You stole my phone!" she exclaimed.

Crowley shrugged. "You stole my moose." He narrowed his eyes. "And I owe you for that, love."

"Leave her alone, Crowley, we're here to talk," Sam growled.

"Talk?" Crowley asked, raising his eyebrows as though he were amused. "_Now_ you want to talk? You couldn't have agreed to do that earlier, on my terms?"

"Would you shut up," Sam asked, annoyed. "We're not here about that –"

"Maybe you're not," Clara said, turning in her seat. She raised her hand and smacked Crowley across the face.

"Ouch!" Crowley complained loudly, rubbing his cheek. "What the hell, woman?!"

"That was for what you did to Sam!" she said.

"That was nothing compared to what I'm going to do to _you_, now," Crowley snarled angrily, and Sam snapped his fingers to get Crowley's attention, then pointed at the ceiling of the car.

All three of them looked up – there was a strange symbol etched in chalk across the entire ceiling, and Crowley looked at Sam, his eyes dangerous. "Really, Sam?"

"I said we're here to talk," Sam said lowly.

Crowley rubbed his cheek again, glaring at Clara. "About bloody _what_?"

"Moriarty," Sam said, and Crowley looked interested.

"So," he said. "The situation as reached you, then. The Doctor?"

"What do you know about Moriarty, Crowley?" Sam demanded.

"Besides from he's a double-crossing psychopath? Nothing," Crowley replied.

"We both know that's bull. Come on, we know there was a deal, what was it?"

Crowley glared, and Sam said, "Clara, hand me that flask of holy water in the dash."

"It was nothing, alright?" Crowley complained, looking more annoyed than frightened. "A common deal, I get it all the time."

"What is it?"

"Invincibility. Up until the day I collect, that is." He leaned back, getting comfy. "You get it a lot. People want to be invincible for ten years so they can get away with anything. Say, putting a bullet through your own head and then waking up a few hours later."

"So how'd he double-cross you, then?" Clara frowned.

Crowley looked angrier than ever now. "His payment was due six months ago."

"Payment?" Clara asked, confused.

"His soul, love."

"If his payment was due, how did he get around it?" frowned Sam.

"He'd had to have made a deal with another demon," Crowley replied, annoyed. "Someone just as powerful as me, or at least with the potential to be."

"But you're the King of Hell," Sam said, his brow furrowing. "Who else would have to power to do something like that?"

Crowley shook his head. "Think, moose. Use that tiny brain of yours. Who hates me as much, possibly more, than you and your brother and wants to see me screwed over?"

Sam frowned for another moment before it dawned on him. "This has something to do with why you grabbed me."

"Bingo," Crowley said, raising his eyebrows.

Sam shook his head. "What is it?"

"I don't know," Crowley said aggressively. "But I was persuaded by another source to follow their directions."

"What?" Sam looked smug and amused. "What'd they have over you?"

"Keep your big nose out of it, Samantha, it's not your business."

"You kidnapped me!"

"Nothing personal!"

"You beat the hell out of him!" Clara added.

"I do that to all my friends, it's how I show love!" Crowley defended himself. "Tell her, Sam!"

"Who are we going up against, Crowley?" Sam demanded.

"The King of Hell, if you don't let him out of this trap," Crowley exclaimed.

Sam sighed. "Is there any way to take these guys down?"

Crowley's face lit up with glee. "Samantha Winchester, are you asking for a teamup?"

"Crowley. Are you with us on this or not?"

Crowley smirked, looking like he was considering it.

"I call the shots on this, moose. We have a little meeting and discuss things. Your place, tonight. Deal?"

"Yeah, fine," Sam sighed, erasing a chunk of the Devils Trap with his sleeve.

"Should we kiss on it?" Crowley asked innocently.

"Get out."

Crowley smirked and exited the car, stopping and stooping by Clara's window.

"You and I," he said lowly. "We're destined to have fun together, love." He tossed her phone into her lap. "Give me a ring sometime, won't you?"

"Go!" Sam snapped, and Crowley disappeared.

Clara looked a little frightened, or maybe angry, but she did well at hiding it as she busied herself putting her phone back in her pocket.

Sam knew personally to not take Crowleys threats lightly – especially after Meg. Clara seemed to be able to hold her own, but against someone like Crowley? Hell, Dean and Sam had a hard time handling him.

"So," Sam said, putting the car into drive. "How do you feel about tattoos?"


	6. Chapter 6

Dean sat the beers on the table, sitting down across from Charlie.

She smiled her thanks and opened hers, taking a drink.

"So how long you been back?" Dean asked.

Charlie shrugged. "A few months. I would have come to visit, but I heard about . . ."

"Yeah," Dean cut her off, looking away. "Everyone did."

He looked lost in thought, and Charlie laid her hand on his. "Hey," she said. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you're okay."

Dean smirked. "You too. So tell me about it."

"Well," Charlie said, leaning back. "We ended the rebellion, and we came back. Dorothy went to explore the world and I came back to Kansas. Did some LARPing, kept up with you boys. I heard you were, you know, back, and had planned on coming last month but stuff got in the way, you know how it is."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Stuff?"

Charlie looked a bit proud. "Uh, yeah. Took down a few vampires down in Maine and worked with Jody Mills on a wendigo thing."

Dean looked impressed. "Wow. Look at you, all grown up and hunting."

"Shut up," Charlie laughed. They were silent for a moment and then Charlie exclaimed, "God, I just can't believe I'm in the same building as the Doctor!"

"How do you know him, anyway?"

"Are you kidding? I keep track of all things crazy," Charlie said like it was obvious. "And wherever that guy goes, crazy follows. No one knows much about him – except for me, because I may or may not have hacked into a UNIT system."

"What do you know about him?"

Charlie was about to answer, when Sam and Clara walked through the door, carrying grocery bags.

". . . still surprised it really didn't sting as bad as I thought," Clara was saying.

"Yeah, it's not as bad as people make it out to be," Sam agreed, smiling a bit.

"There you are!" The Doctor exclaimed, entering from the kitchen. "What was that about, a phone call saying you had 'errands?' What on earth for?"

"Look!" Clara exclaimed, pulling her shirt up to reveal an anti-possession tattoo, still shiny and taped on her hip.

"You got tattooed?!" the Doctor exclaimed, examining it.

"It keeps the demons out," Clara said matter-of-factually.

"Yes, but really, tattooed? That's _permanent_!"

"I think it looks fantastic," Charlie said, her face a little red.

"Thank you!" Clara exclaimed, looking pointedly at the Doctor. "She likes it, see? I'm going to grab a bite, d'ya want anything?"

"No, of course not," the Doctor.

"I know, Doctor, I was talking to Sam?" She said, looking at him.

"An apple would be great," the hunter replied.

"Great, be back in a tick!" She jogged towards the kitchen, the Doctor looking confused and following.

Charlie looked at Sam, looking super proud.

"No," Sam said firmly, raising his eyebrows.

"What? You can't call dibs!" Charlie said.

"Neither can you!"

"I don't have too, I have charm. And we're the same height. You'd have to stoop to kiss her and she'd have to stand on her toes!"

Sam shook his head. "I can't believe we're having this conversation!"

"I dunno, Charlie," Dean said, leaning back. "I think Sam might have this one."

"That's not fair, I haven't even got a chance to –" Charlie started, but stopped, staring at something behind Sam. "There's a dude behind you."

Sam turned, and looked annoyed. "I thought you said tonight?"

"Change of plans," Crowley panted, and Sam realized how disgruntled the King of Hell looked; he was bleeding from the arm and his hair was a mess. His tie was askew and he was out of breath. "Pliers," he demanded.

Dean headed for the storage closet, digging around for a pair of pliers as Crowley dropped into a chair and pulled his coat off. He rolled up his sleeve, looking at a deep, fleshy bullet wound on his right arm.

"Short angry British guy," Charlie acknowledged, sitting on the table. "So this is Crowley, huh?"

Crowley cut his eyes to her. "You must be Charlie Bradbury."

"The one and only, bucko," the redhead replied as Dean returned with the pliers.

"You wanna tell us what happened?" he demanded as Crowley began to attempt to pull out the bullet.

"What's it bloody look like? I was attacked!" the demon snapped, looking pained.

At that moment, Clara and the Doctor entered from the kitchen. Clara had a plate of apples cut up and the Doctor had a vanilla pudding cup. Both the alien and the girl frowned.

"What's happened?" Clara asked, setting the plate on the table.

"Who cares?" Dean supplied, and Crowley glared.

"I returned to Hell only to come into an ambush," Crowley explained, grunting as he plucked the bullet from the wound. He examined it. "Devils trap salt rounds. Hurts like a mother."

"How would they know to use those?" Clara frowned.

Crowley glared at the Winchesters, who shrugged. Dean crossed his arms and Sam bit into a slice of apple.

"It was Abaddon," Crowley went on, dabbing at the wound with his handkerchief. "And her little group. They killed or trapped my loyalists and then aimed for me. Just hardly got away."

"You didn't lead them here, did you?" Dean demanded.

"I'm fine, thanks," Crowley snapped at his former companion. "And no. This is the only place I've got to hide."

"Whoa, hey, you can't stay here," Sam said, frowning.

Crowley looked offended. "Do you want help with this or not?"

"What's he doing here?"

Castiel had just entered from the living quarters, his hair still wet from the shower and dressed in jeans and a sweater.

"Cas," Crowley said, like he was greeting an old friend. "How's that grace holding up?"

"Dean," Cas said lowly.

"He knows somethin' about all this Moriarty Abaddon crap," Dean explained, looking as annoyed as everyone else at the demons presence.

"Abaddon?"

"Apparently she's involved. Come on, you can't tell me your surprised. It's just our luck."

"We need to sort this all out, now," Clara said, surprised when everyone turned to look at her. "I – I think we should all just sit down and map out exactly what's going on."

"I agree," Charlie said, nodding. "This is all extremely scrambled."

At that moment, her cell phone rang, and she scrambled to answer it. "Hello?" A smile broke across her face. "Hey! How the hell are you? I haven't talked to you since you got not-dead." She laughed at something. "Well, you're a dick, for the thing. What? You told me you weren't related! Oh, I hate you. Alright. Listen, I'm going to text you some coordinates. Meet me there. Oh, an hour? Okay, great. See you there." She hung up, and everyone looked at her.

"Charlie," Sam said, frowning. "Just how many people are you going to bring to the secret bunker?"

"Trust me on this, gents," Charlie grinned. "We want this guy on our side."

"Why is he so special?" the Doctor demanded.

"He's not special," Charlie said, looking amused. "He's a sociopath."


	7. Chapter 7

Charlie looked to her right, a bit nervous and uncomfortable as she clutched the steering wheel of her classic VW bug. It puttered along the highway, a bit bumpy – though Charlie loved it, she thought it made it feel authentic – and would occasionally make a mysterious noise coming from the radio.

Charlie bit her lip. This was awkward.

Not that having an alien in the car wasn't cool; it totally was. It was just . . .

Well. Odd.

"So you're an alien," Charlie said bluntly.

"Time-Lord," the Doctor said proudly. He had insisted on coming with Charlie, refusing to explain his reasoning. Now he fiddled with a device he called a Sonic Screwdriver and occasionally smiled brightly at the scenery.

Charlie nodded. "I've been following you. Not, uh, you know. Like, legit. Just, maps, pictures, stuff like that. I didn't know you were an alien, though. Just a time traveler."

"I'm both," the Doctor smirked.

"I mean I met this girl once," Charlie continued. "At a bar, we we're both drinking. She swore up and down you were an alien. What was her name . . ." Charlie shook her head. "Man, that's gonna bug me."

"You're handling this well," the Doctor observed.

"A few years ago, I'd be freaking out," Charlie admitted. "Sam and Dean and I, we go back. We defeated some monsters a few times, and then I decided to be like them and join the good fight. I've seen Leviathans, demons, vampires, werewolves . . . aliens don't come as a big shock." She frowned again. "What was that girls name? We went home together. Mary? Morgan?"

"You're very smart, aren't you?" The Doctor asked, and Charlie laughed.

"Well, yeah. I mean I can hack with the best of them and I have a pretty high IQ. So yeah, why do you ask?"

"What does Clara see in that big bloke?"

Charlie bust out laughed. "Are you jealous of Sam?"

"No!" the Doctor snapped, though you could see by his face that he was. Charlie could only guess; the Doctor was very showy and seemed to thrive on attention, and his best friend was doe-eyed over a man they had just met.

"Well, he's Sam, so there's that," Charlie shrugged, stifling a smile. "He's big and handsome, if you're into that. He's smart – not as smart as me, though," she added, and the Doctor grinned a bit. "And he's basically one of the best guys out there. He's been through a lot, him and Dean . . . they cling to each other." She snapped her fingers. "Martha! That woman, her name was Martha!"

"Well, looks like we're here," the Doctor said quickly as the car came to a stop at a bar. He quickly exited the vehicle, and Charlie followed.

A moment later, a cab pulled up to the side of the road. A tall man got out of the backseat, his long coat flapping around his legs in the wind. He adjusted the scarf around his neck.

A much shorter man followed, wearing an old jacket and jeans. He paid the cabbie and turned, running a hand through his blonde hair.

"You have bangs now, I don't like them," the tall man said to Charlie as they approached her and the Doctor.

"Thanks," Charlie said. "Did you get more awkward?"

"Less so, I'm a regular social butterfly these days, tell her John," he retorted, and then he and Charlie both grinned, coming together in a short embrace.

"How'd you do it?" Charlie demanded, pulling away and looking into his eyes.

"Do what?" he asked innocently.

"We're not playing that game," Charlie warned. "I'll figure it out."

The man looked past Charlie to the Doctor, not looking surprised. "Mycroft said you'd be here."

"Well I had no idea that you'd be here, or I wouldn't have come," the Doctor said lightly, narrowing his eyes. "Welcome back to the world of the living, Sherlock."

"How do they know each other?" Charlie asked John as Sherlock and the Doctor sized each other up.

"I was going to ask you," the man replied. "John Watson."

"Charlie. Hey, boys," she called. "Put the rulers away, we've gotta get going."

* * *

><p>"I went through all that crap just for the bitch to still be alive," Dean was muttered as he aggressively yanked books off the shelf and slammed them on the table.<p>

"Well I don't know why you're treating me like it's my fault," Crowley said innocently, flipping through the pages of one of the books.

"Because it is your fault, Crowley!" Dean yelled.

Clara watched from the kitchen, before frowning and retreating farther into the kitchen.

"Are they always like that?"

"Sometimes," Sam said from where he was slapping some sandwiches together. "They're . . . complicated."

Clara nodded, propelling herself onto the counter and sitting there. "It's a good thing you've got all this room," she noted. "Seeing as more people keep dropping in."

"Yeah, it's like a hotel right now," Sam agreed, handing her a sandwich and leaning against the counter.

"Thanks," she said softly, nibbling on the snack.

They ate in silence, besides from the raised voices coming from the main room – from the sound of it Cas had joined in as well.

"Sometimes I feel like more of a babysitter than a hunter," Sam sighed.

"Why do you hunt, Sam?" Clara asked, sucking the peanut butter off her thumb.

Sam looked a bit distant, or pained, or both. "It's a family thing, I guess. When I was a kid, my mom . . . she got killed by a demon. So my dad and Dean and me, we started chasing down all kinds of crazy. And we've been going ever since."

"Do you enjoy it?"

Sam chuckled darkly. "No."

Clara looked sympathetic, and laid her hand on his where it rested on the counter. They looked at each other, dark brown eyes meeting hazel. They stared at each other for a moment, each debating on leaning forward.

"Charlie's back," Dean said, coming into the kitchen.

Sam and Clara followed him into the main room, watching as Charlie and the Doctor entered, followed by two men.

"Mr. Holmes," Crowley said, frowning.

"Crowley," Sherlock said, looking a bit surprised. "Why are you here?"

"This is my home," Crowley said smugly.

"No, it's not," Sam growled, and looked at Charlie. "This is them?"

"Yep," she said. "Sherlock Holmes and his friend Dr. John Watson."

"Awesome," Dean grumbled. "Everyone sit down. Time we figured this all out."


	8. Chapter 8

The crowded table was definitely an odd one. Dean sat at one end, the Doctor to his right and Castiel to his left. Crowley was sat between Castiel and the woman angel, Hannah. Clara sat between the Doctor and Charlie. Across from Charlie was the man called John, and beside her was Sherlock. Sam sat at the other end of the table.

"Okay," he said, looking flustered. "Let's start with this Moriarty guy. What do we know about him?"

Sherlock stood and quickly relayed all of his information on Jim Moriarty, including details of his crimes and the way he worked. John occasionally added a detail, but mostly he sat there and looked sullen – he was still getting used to the whole supernatural beings, aliens theory.

"I've never actually met him, but UNIT and Torchwood have him on red alert. I recognize his threat level and I investigate. It seems they're never able to find him," The Doctor added after the Detective finished.

"Yes, no one finds him unless he wants to be found," Sherlock agreed as he sat down.

"Crowley?" Sam raised his eyebrows.

Crowley shrugged, leaning back. "Ten years ago I was summoned by a young genius who wanted to be invulnerable. I asked why but he was never really clear – mind you I didn't care, I got what I came for. Time passed and I never gave the little bugger another thought, until he started popping up on the news. When I saw he was dead I knew something was up."

"How?" frowned John, looking confused.

Crowley looked at the doctor. "His soul. His ten years were up, but his soul never arrived. I went looking – damned if I didn't look –" he looked very pleased at his little joke "– but I couldn't find him. I've had my men looking ever since."

"What's Abaddon got to do with it?" Castiel demanded.

"My guess?" Crowley raised his eyebrows. He sighed. "Abaddon sees an opportunity here: not only would she gain a valuable ally in this genius, psycho little brat, but it drew me and my men out in the open looking for him. That gave her the opportunity to get the jump on me."

"Why'd you take Sam?" Dean demanded, glaring at the demon.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Are we still on that?"

"Crowley!" Dean snapped.

"I got an offer, alright?" Crowley tsked, looking annoyed. "An anonymous source contacted me and said they could help me with my little Abaddon problem. I said alright, name your price. They said Sam Winchester." He looked at Sam. "I never intended to actually hand you over, for the record. I had a plan."

"Thanks," Sam said sarcastically.

"You still didn't have to beat him black and blue," Clara pointed out.

"Ah," Crowley said, looking sheepish. "He got snarky."

"That doesn't give you a right to –" Clara began, standing, but Sam held up a hand.

"Clara, it's fine," he said.

"How can you just sit there –?"

"Clara, seriously," Sam said. "It's not a big deal."

Clara looked furious, but sat back down and crossed her arms, glaring at the King of Hell with a fiery ferocity. He smirked and didn't look away from her.

"Why would you accept an offer anyway, we've got the first blade," Dean continued.

Crowley looked away from Clara to the hunter. "Yes, because that worked out _brilliantly_ last time."

Everyone was quiet. Finally, Dean said, "Sam, can I talk to you for a second?" and the brothers headed across the room as the others talked amongst themselves.

"What are we thinking here?" Dean asked his brother, running his hand over his face.

"The way I see it, we've got no reason to keep Crowley around," Sam replied, putting his hands on his hips. "With him out of the way, alls we got to do is take care of Abaddon."

"Hold on a minute, Sam," Dean said, looking pained. "Look, man, I really don't wanna say this –"

"Say what?" Sam challenged, and Dean sighed.

"Look, Crowley's a dick. We all know that. But . . ." he shook his head. "If we kill him we gotta think of who's going to take over Hell. I know it's crazy, but Crowley keeps those sons of bitches in line and outta chaos, and who knows who would come along with him and Abaddon both dead?"

"So what, you wanna break out the 'Vote Crowley' election buttons?" Sam asked angrily. "He tried to kill me, Dean. He turned you into a demon!"

"Yeah, okay, look, he's a really big asshole," Dean continued. "But seriously, think about it. If we kill him, who's really gonna draw the short straw?"

Sam sighed, looking at the demon. He was watching the brothers with a knowing look on his face. He smirked at Sam before returning his attention to Clara, who was in an animated conversation with the Doctor.

Sam gritted his teeth. "If he betrays us . . ."

"I know, I got it," Dean nodded, putting his hand on his brother's shoulder. "I'll be right behind you."

They returned to the others, crossing their arms.

"Alright," Sam said. "In order to come up with a plan, we're going to need some things. We need a report on everything we know about Moriarty. Someone needs to contact those facilities, UNIT and Torchwood, and pull their records – maps, names, all of it. We need a location on Abaddon and we also need to figure out the name of the source that claim they can kill her. Any questions?"

No one said a word, and Sam nodded. "Great. Let's get started."

* * *

><p>Clara wandered from her bedroom later that night, tying a robe around the pajamas Charlie had lent her. It was very late, and while most were asleep, she knew the Doctor would be in the library, probably pouring over books with Castiel and Hannah.<p>

Clara hadn't been able to sleep, and had finally given up and crept from her room. She headed down the hall, wandering about with no intended destination. She found a small staircase adjacent to the kitchen and flipped a light on. She went down the stairs, coming to an old wooden door. She opened it, and the overhead light flipped on, revealing a small room, cluttered with books and various objects.

She examined the bookshelves; most of the books were old and dusty, or handwritten journals, but on one shelf was a large series of books. They seemed to have been hastily and roughly stored, but looked modern and brand new.

Clara leaned in front of the shelf, frowning. She pulled the first book, "Supernatural", off the shelf and skimmed through the pages. She was shocked to see it seemed to be a biography of the Winchester brothers, and she examined the back cover.

"Can't sleep?"

Clara jumped, startled, at Crowley's low voice. She laid the book back on the shelf and stood, facing him. "No," she said coldly, crossing her arms defensively. "I suppose demons don't sleep?"

He chuckled, taking a few steps forward. He seemed very relaxed, his hands shoved in his pants pockets and a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Sleep is a waste of time. Without it, I have time to reflect on more important things."

"I can only imagine," Clara said coolly, keeping her head held high.

"Gives me more time to do important things, enjoy hobbies," he continued, stopping a few feet from her.

"Like torturing innocent people?" Clara retorted, feeling rather brave.

Crowley narrowed his eyes and took another step forward. "Let me tell you something, Clara," he said quietly, raising his eyebrows. "Sam Winchester? He isn't innocent. Not by any means. He's done things, been things, that would make your skin crawl."

"Yeah, well, you don't exactly have the greatest reputation yourself, your highness," she replied lowly, glaring into his dark eyes.

Crowley looked amused. "No denying that; I am, after all, a demon. It's expected. But Sam? He's a _human_. And if you think about it, doesn't it make things that much scarier?"

Clara raised her hand angrily, intending to slap him again, but this time he was prepared; he caught her wrist and squeezed it tightly.

Clara glared at him, breathing deeply not out of fear, but anger.

"I like you, Miss Oswald," Crowley told her, squeezing her wrist a bit harder. Clara clenched her jaw, determined not to give him the satisfaction.

"I'd hate you see you place your trust in the wrong people," Crowley continued. "I think you and I could do quite well working together. Tell me," he said, smirking a bit more. "What do you know about that lovely machine the Doctor has?"

"Get out."

Crowley didn't look surprised at the gruff voice behind him. "Moose," he acknowledged, looking over his shoulder. "Eavesdropping, are we?"

"Let go of her and get out," Sam repeated, his voice low and his eyes dangerous.

Crowley raised his eyebrows, returning his gaze to Clara. "Keep what I said in mind, love," he said softly, releasing her hand. He left the library, shouldering past Sam, who glared at him the whole time.

"Are you okay?" Sam demanded, approaching Clara once the demon was gone.

"Fine," Clara said, rubbing her wrist. Sam took it gently and examined it.

"I oughta gut him just for talking to you," Sam mumbled, examining the light bruises.

"It's fine, he was just trying to intimidate me," Clara replied, swallowing. "Actually, I was just about to knee him in the jewels when you came in."

Sam chuckled. "Not much of the damsel in distress type, huh?"

"Not really," she grinned, turning her hand to clasp his.

Sam looked at her. "You're sure you're okay, Clara?"

"Are you?" Clara asked, and when Sam looked confused. "I'm sorry, I skimmed through it . . ." her eyes darted to the book on the shelf and then back to Sam. "Sam, your fiancé . . . your life . . ." She shook her head. "I'm so sorry."

"It was a long time ago," Sam said, trying to look casual about it.

"But it still hurts," Clara said, putting her hand on his chest, right over his heart. "I know it must."

"It gets easier," Sam admitted, laying his own hand over hers. "Dean, hes got me through a lot of it."

"But sometimes you get lonely," she guessed, knowing that look in his eyes all too well. "You want something . . . more."

"Yeah," Sam said, looking at her. He gently pushed some hair behind her ear, his hand resting on the side of her head. They leaned into each other at the same moment, their lips pressing together softly. It was a gentle kiss at first, but as they pulled away and looked at each other, Clara wrapped her arms around his neck and he pulled her to him, their lips meeting with a passionate ferocity as they focused on each other, nothing more than each other, and escaped from the world.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean yawned, stretching as he made his way down the hall early the next morning. "Sammy!" he called as he raised his hand to pound on his brother's door. He was shocked when the door opened as he was speaking.

"Oh my God," Clara said, her face blazing red as she caught sight of Dean. Her hair was messy, and she wore nothing but Sams long sleeved flannel shirt.

"Hi," Dean said, just as surprised as her, but much more amused. "Uh, Sam home?"

"Clara, you okay?" Sam strolled out of the bathroom, soaking wet from the shower and wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He stopped, his face embarrassed. "D-Dean," he said. "What – what are you doing up before eight?!"

"I, um," Dean said, looking like he was trying not to laugh. "Heard a crash in here and came to check on you."

"Oh, yeah, I knocked a lamp over," Clara muttered, turning redder by the second.

"Did ya?" Dean was now fully grinning.

"I'm just – I'm going to go get ready," she continued, looking at Sam.

He nodded. "Yeah, okay. Uh, see you later."

Clara dashed from the room, heading down the hall and quickly disappearing behind her bedroom door.

Dean looked at Sam. "Sammy, you dog."

"Shut up," Sam said, shutting the door in his brother's face.

* * *

><p>Sherlock had not slept that night. Instead, he had stared out the window, letting his thoughts race. He thought, once or twice, John had spoken to him, but he couldn't be sure.<p>

Now, he made his way downstairs for breakfast, sitting at the table across from John as they passed around the food.

Hannah and Crowley were missing. Not surprising, Sherlock thought, seeing as neither of them ate. He was slightly surprised, though, to see the angel Castiel sitting beside Dean, though he was the only one without a plate. He seemed to enjoy the more human customs, or at least was more used to them.

"Eggs?" the girl, Clara, offered Sam, who as across from her.

"Yes, please," he said, not looking her in the eye.

Sleeping together. And trying to keep it a secret by the flushing of their faces and occasional shared smiles and knocking of feet under the table.

"I'll have some eggs, too, Clara," Dean smirked.

The brother knew, then. It was obvious by the way Clara flushed a deeper pink and tried not to smile back at him.

The Doctor, who sat to Clara's left, was frowning. He knew something was up as well, but by the confused furrow of his eyebrows, he couldn't put his finger on it. It was obviously quite bothersome for him, not knowing. It made Sherlock want to laugh.

Of course, he didn't.

John and Charlie were deep in conversation about the craziness of their situation. Castiel was now sitting quietly, occasionally adding to the conversation going on between Sam, Dean, Clara, and the Doctor.

For a moment, Sherlock felt a touch of loneliness. But then he saw the perfect, fluffy pancakes on his plate and the moment passed.

"Well, Miss Oswald, you must be quite the cook if you've managed to make Sherlock shut up," John complimented, and Clara beamed.

"Isn't she!" the Doctor exclaimed, looking at Clara proudly. "I'm not usually fond of human-y foods, but if Clara makes it, I can't resist! You should try her soufflé!"

"Oh, it's nothing," Clara said, but she looked very pleased.

"Don't be modest, it's great! My favorite, besides for custard and fish fingers, that is," The Doctor continued, proudly bragging on his best friend. "You haven't truly lived until you've tried Clara's soufflé!"

"I'd love to try it sometime," Sam said, smiling knowingly at Clara, who smiled back brightly.

Dean made a choking noise. "Anyway!" he said, clearing his throat. "You get a hold of those files, Doc?"

"UNIT had theirs faxed over," the Doctor confirmed. "Torchwood, well they're a bit trickier. Takes a while to get a hold of them. Heavens forbid Captain Harkness make things convenient."

"Harkness?" Crowley demanded as he entered the room. Sherlock noticed Sam clench his silverware tighter and his face harden; something had recently happened between the hunter and demon, Sherlock would guess last night or early this morning. Sam was currently attempting to act normal.

Clara nudged him with her foot and looked at him, giving him a bit of an encouraging smile.

So she had been involved, too.

"Captain Jack Harkness?" Crowley demanded again.

"You know him," the Doctor acknowledged, looking a bit surprised.

"Of course I bloody know Jack Harkness!" Crowley exclaimed, his face turning red. "He was the first to ever get out of a deal! He tricked me!"

"Yes, that does sound like Jack," the Doctor said, nodding. "Anyway, I'm trying to get a hold of him," he told Dean. "And as soon as I do, I'm sure he'll join us."

"It's like we're raising an army," Sam frowned.

"We may be," Castiel agreed. "This is very dangerous business, demons and psychopaths – not just a psychopath, but a freak of nature that can't die – and aliens on top of that."

"I'm on your side here!" the Doctor exclaimed.

"You are, yes," Castiel agreed. "But how many others are out there?"

"None, I'm the last," the Doctor said aggressively.

"Of your kind," Castiel argued. "There are thousands of other species out there, and I'm fairly sure that not all of them are on our side."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Sam said, stopping the conflict before it got worse.

"Crowley, what do you have on that anonymous source?" Castiel asked the demon roughly.

"I've got my men trying to pull a signal to track her," Crowley said, crossing his arms. "But she's good. I dare say it might take a while."

"Awesome," Dean grunted. "What do we have on Moriarty and Abaddon?"

"Nothing on Moriarty," John said. He looked at Sherlock. "I contacted Lestrade, but so far its bee quiet."

"Of course it has, if he doesn't want to be found then he won't be," Sherlock said as though it were obvious.

"Awful big comeback he made to go into hiding," Crowley said.

"Yes, he does that," Sherlock murmured. He stood and left the room.

"Where is he going?" Crowley frowned.

"To play his violin," John said, looking exasperated. "Just ignore it. And don't try to talk to him."

Charlie ignored this, following the consulting detective.

"Man, this Moriarty thing really has you chasing your tail, huh?" she said as he set up his music facing a window. She sighed when he didn't answer. "I read your friends blogs. You and this Moriarty guy really have it out for each other, huh?"

"It had to be something, didn't it?" Sherlock said quietly without turning around. "He couldn't just be dead. Much too easy. He had to be a part of this supernatural business."

"I think everyone is these days," Charlie said, crossing her arms. "Most people just don't know."

Sherlock turned now and looked at her. "What do you know about Crowley?"

"King of Hell, off-again on-again villain, probably is gonna screw us over," she said. "Why?"

"And why is he considered a proper ruler for Hell?"

"Honestly? He's good at it," Charlie shrugged.

Sherlock frowned, turning back around and looking out the window. "He knows something."

"About?"

"I'm not sure. Not about this. It's about the angel, Castiel."

"Cas?" she frowned. "What's wrong with Cas?"

"Nothing. He has something that belongs to Castiel, but the angel doesn't know it."

"Well, I mean . . ." Charlie hesitated. "Castiel lost his grace, what allows him to be an angel. So he, uh, borrowed some, but when it ran out he got real sick. So Crowley stole him some more."

"No," Sherlock said. "It's not that."

"Oh." Charlie sighed. "Listen, you okay, Sher?"

"Charlie, you do know how much I despise that?"

"Yeah."

"Clara Oswald is sleeping with Sam Winchester."

"Dammit!" Charlie cursed. "You're a dick, Sherlock, you know that?"

Sherlock looked over his shoulder, and smiled.


	10. Chapter 10

"What's the dirt, Crowley?"

Crowley frowned, turning from the bookshelf he stood in front of in the library. Dean and Charlie stood there, their arms crossed, the door shut behind them.

"Beg your pardon?" the demon asked, raising his eyebrows.

"That super freak up there?" Dean said, pointing upstairs. "The one that knows everything? He figures you've got something on Cas."

"Does he now?" Crowley asked, approaching them. He glared at the two of them. "Step aside, Dean," he said lowly.

"What's up with Cas?" Dean demanded.

"Dunno, why don't you ask him?" Crowley retorted. "I'm not his babysitter, Squirrel. That job belongs to someone else."

"I'm not his frickin' babysitter, Crowley," Dean growled.

"I wasn't talking about you," Crowley said.

Dean frowned, confused, and Crowley pushed past him, leaving them.

"What does he mean?" Charlie frowned.

Dean shook his head. "Nothing that makes sense. Listen, I'm giving you a job. You keep an eye on Cas, okay? Tell me if anything seems weird."

Charlie nodded and they made their way downstairs.

* * *

><p>Later that evening, they began to get their answers. The Doctor and Clara were sitting on the sofa. Clara was helping him with the Sonic, holding a few gears as he tweaked it. To their left, Dean and Sam sat at a small table. Dean was on his brother's laptop, and Sam was reading through some files. A bottle of whiskey and two glasses sat between them. Charlie sat on the floor, leaning against Dean's legs as she typed away on her tablet. At another table, John poured over the other half of files he had split with Sam. Sherlock was staring off into space, his mind racing. The angels, Hannah and Castiel, were no where to be seen; Sam said something about Castiel going into town, and Hannah never left the mans side.<p>

The door opened, and they all looked up, expecting to see the angels.

They certainly weren't expecting Crowley, guiding a man in a suit with a bag over his head and his hands tied behind him.

"Crowley, what the hell?" Dean demanded, standing.

"Oh, no," Sherlock groaned, his face annoyed. "What did you bring him for?" He crossed the room, yanking the bag off the mans head. "Why are you here?"

Mycroft shook his head. "An excellent question!" he exclaimed angrily. "I was abducted from my home and shoved on a plane! Why am I here?"

"Calm down, mate," Crowley said, cutting the ropes. "You're here for everyone's sake."

"Meaning?" Mycroft snapped, rubbing his wrists.

"Every single person Sherlock Holmes is associated with is currently in danger," Crowley said, scrolling through his phone. "Now, I've stationed my men outside of the homes of Molly Hooper, Gregory Lestrade, Mary Watson, and a Mrs. Hudson. But Mycroft Holmes, well, he was an asset."

"Asset?" Sherlock snorted. "Don't be ridiculous, what is Mycroft worth?"

"Everything, to the right people," Crowley shot back. "We have you on our side, Mr. Holmes, did you really think you could get involved without endangering your friends and family?"

"Ohh . . . this is your fault!" Sherlock told John.

"Me? Is not!"

"You have caused me to become social!" Sherlock said, annoyed.

John threw his hands up. "Right, sorry! My fault!"

Sherlock returned his gaze to his brother and the King of Hell. "But why bring Mycroft _here_ of all places?"

"Yes, that is what I'd like to know," Mycroft said, adjusting his suit.

"He has access to things we need, and it's too dangerous to converse via phone or internet," Crowley insisted.

"Why didn't you bloody just ask me to come?" Mycroft grumbled.

Crowley looked thoughtful. "Didn't cross my mind, to be honest." He held up a hand. "Before you all come at me spitting and rioting, I should let you know I have found and apprehended my anonymous contact."

"Well where the hell are they?" Dean demanded.

"Locked in my trunk, currently, with another, er, associate. Be back in a tick," Crowley said, looking much more amused than the others as he made his way back upstairs.

"You alright?" John asked Mycroft.

"Yes, well, rather befuddled," the elder Holmes muttered, sitting in a large, overstuffed chair and dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief.

"You look awful," The Doctor told Mycroft. "Know what you need? Nice cup of tea. Clara, help me make tea?"

"That means 'make tea while I watch'," Clara clarified, grinning as she followed him to the kitchen.

Crowley entered, this time guiding two women, their heads covered and hands tied as well.

"At least he kept the secret bunker a secret," Dean muttered.

Crowley sat the women on the couch, pulling their hoods off.

Dean and Sam looked on shocked. They didn't recognize the first woman, but the second one was eerily familiar, though her face was swollen and bleeding, just like the last time they'd seen her.

"Meg?" Sam asked, shocked.

She smiled a bit. "Hiya, boys." She frowned, looking around. "Where's my tree topper?"

"We saw you die," Sam said, shaking his head.

"You saw what I wanted you to see," Crowley said, perching on the armrest of the couch. "I had, of course, hoped it would be enough to push poor dear Castiel over the edge at the time, but that didn't quite work out for me. But I thought I might be able to use her again later."

"Crowley," Sam said, shaking his head. "You're sick."

"Thank you."

"Well know we know what he had over Cas," muttered Dean.

"Not to interrupt anything here, but which one of you wants to help me out here?" Meg demanded.

Charlie pulled out her pocket knife, cutting the ropes. Meg rubbed her wrists and rolled her neck, her eyes flickering black for a moment. "Much better."

"But we still don't know who this is," Sam nodded at the other woman.

"Yeah, or what she wanted with you," Dean added, leaning in front of her. She was a few years older than him, and also pretty well busted up, her lip bleeding and her curly hair matted with blood. "So who are you?"

She opened her mouth, but there was a crash behind them, and they all stopped. Her eyes widened.

The Doctor had just dropped the cup of tea, glass flying across the floor. Clara stood there in shock, her hand over her mouth.

The Doctor approached the woman quickly, untying her. "What have you done?" he demanded of her. "Are you hurt? Look at me," he said, taking her face in his hands, examining her eyes. "Is anything broken?"

"Do you honestly expect me to tell you if it was?" she finally spoke, her accent sharp and sarcastic as though she used it often on him. "What are you doing here?" She hissed.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"I think you're forgetting something," she said stiffly, lifting her head and looking away.

The Doctor sighed, and leaned forward, his hand resting gently on the side of her face as he pressed his lips to hers. She held his shoulder and wrapped the other around his neck, closing her eyes and returning the affections.

Everyone looked totally shocked at the sudden PDA, looking at the Doctor and the women before looking at each other.

"Well," Crowley said. "That is . . . unexpected."

"Okay, I'm really confused," Dean said. He looked at Clara. "Who the hell is she?"

"That's his wife," Clara said simply, not knowing what else to say.

The two pulled away, and River grinned cheekily. "Hello, sweetie."


	11. Chapter 11

"Hold still," the Doctor said, lifting his hands to her face.

"Doctor, don't you dare –" she snapped, but it was too late. The Doctor laid his hands on the side of her face and leaned forward, kissing her forehead. There was a bright, golden light, and the others looked away. When it died down, her face was clean of all wounds and she looked refreshed.

"Better?" the Doctor asked, pulling away.

"I _hate_ you!"

He smirked. "No you don't." He grabbed her hand, yanking her up. "Everyone, Professor River Song. Mrs. Doctor!"

"You're married?" Charlie asked, shocked.

River ignored her, instead turning on Crowley. "You took my vortex manipulator. I want it back," she said dangerously. "And then, I'm going to make you wish you were never born."

"Well, I . . ." the demon began.

"Get it," the Doctor commanded, and Crowley sighed but complied. "River, where are we now?" the Doctor asked.

"Seven months since New York. You?"

"Much farther than that. This is Clara. You haven't met her yet."

"Has she met me?"

"Yeah, once."

"Well," River smiled, nodding at the younger woman. "Nice to meet you and see you again."

"Can someone please explain what the hell is going on here?" Dean exclaimed.

River turned, looking him up and down. "Dean Winchester, right?"

"You're the one that tried to help kill Abaddon?"

"That's me."

"How?"

River smirked. "We'll get to that."

"What'd you want Sam for?" Clara asked, frowning as she stepped forward next to the younger Winchester. He placed his hand on the small of her back, a subtle gesture that no one even noticed – except for Sherlock and River, of course, possibly the two most observant people in the room.

"That went awry," River said, looking apologetic. "I only wanted him to bring you to me. He wasn't supposed to hold you hostage or torture you. I'm so sorry, if I'd had any idea –"

"But what did you want?" Sam frowned.

"Help," River said simply. "To look for this one," she said, slapping the Doctor's arm lightly. "Apparently I didn't need you at all."

"Why were you looking?" The Doctor frowned. "Why didn't you just call?"

"Call? Why didn't I –? Ohh, I could smack you. I tried calling! I tried everything! I was totally blocked from you."

"That's impossible, I can always find you!" the Doctor said, frowning.

"Look, here is what I know," River said. "Last time I saw you, you dropped me off in nineteen thirty-six – mum and dad send their love by the way." The Doctor looked pained and swallowed. "Anyway, I lept forward into two-thousand four-teen and landed in the middle of a hoarde of demons! I found out about this whole Abaddon demon business and tried calling you for weeks! You never answered me. I tried contacting Jack Harkness, Martha Jones – no one answered. So I tried to track down someone who could help me." She looked at Sam.

"But you didn't know how to find me," Sam guessed.

"Right. But what I figured out was, you were against Abaddon and had something to do with Crowley. So I contacted him, thinking you two possibly worked together or knew each other at least, seeing as he was also against Abaddon. It wasn't until after he captured you that I realized he was on a side of his own." She spread her hands. "So I came looking for your brother, and couldn't find him. Then, yesterday, when I was close to finding this place, I was captured by his royal pain in the arse himself."

"Yesterday?" The Doctor looked furious. "He should have brought you straight here! Did he torture you?"

"Don't worry, it's his thing," Meg piped up, now holding the whiskey bottle and taking long drinks.

"Don't you worry about me, sweetie, worry about yourself for giving me that healing!" now River looked furious, glaring at her husband.

At that moment, Crowley returned, handing River her manipulator. She snatched it and clasped it around her wrist.

The door opened again, and Castiel entered, followed by Hannah. They entered the room, and Cas stopped, looking shocked at seeing Meg.

"Meg," he said. "You're alive."

She set the whiskey down, turning and smiling at him. "Hey, Clarence."

He smirked a little. "Clarence. _It' a Wonderful Life._"

Meg's smile widened. "You've been studying."

Castiel stared for a moment before a frown returned to his face. "You're hurt."

"Wow, am I that transparent?" she asked.

Castiel approached her, laying his hand on her cheek. There was a bright light, and her face returned to normal. She hissed a breath. "Ouch."

"I apologize, it does tend to hurt worse for demons," Castiel acknowledged.

"Castiel!" Hannah snapped. "How dare you waste your dwindling grace on this _abomination_?"

"Meg is my friend," Castiel said, frowning.

"Friend?" Hannah scoffed. "She's a demon, Castiel! She is not your friend!"

"Hannah, I know what this looks like," Castiel told the angel. "But Meg is one of us."

Dean looked annoyed at that, and Hannah looked furious. She spun around, storming outside.

"Pal of yours?" Meg raised her eyebrows.

"Hannah does not . . . understand," Castiel said, unable to find another word. "Are you alright?"

"Shut up," she sighed, trying not to smile.

"Listen," Sam said. "As great as it is to have you all on our side here, we're running out of room."

"No problem," River smirked, flipping open her vortex manipulator. "Back in a flash. Where should I park her?" she asked the Doctor.

"Oh, right there is fine," the Doctor said, gesturing to a spot off to the wall. "Be careful with her!"

"Sweetie, I fly her better than you," River said. She smacked her husband on the rear cheekily, pressed a button on her manipulator, and disappeared.

Dean watched in slight shock in awe. He looked at Sam. "I want one."

"What, a vortex manipulator?" Clara asked, grinning.

"That, too."

The grin dropped from the Doctors face as he was about to say something, but he stopped when a familiar noise echoed loudly throughout the room. The TARDIS manifested exactly where they said it would, and River opened the door, coming back out to join the other.

"What have you gotten yourself into this time, boys?" Meg breathed, looking at the ship in awe.

"Has Crowley had you this whole time?" Castiel frowned, still concerned about her well-being.

"Well I wasn't on vacation, Castiel," Meg told him, still examining the box.

Castiel turned to Crowley, who looked totally at ease. "Why?" the angel asked lowly.

"Never know when you're going to need an angel back on the payroll," Crowley said evenly.

"What makes you think I would have –"

"We both know you would have."

Castiel was quiet, and Dean stepped forward. "You try this crap again," he told Crowley, his eyes dangerous. "And that's it. We don't need you that bad."

"Oh, stop flirting, Dean," Crowley replied, his eyes narrow. "We still have work to do."


	12. Chapter 12

There was a soft knocking on the door of Clara's bedroom on board the TARDIS later that night. She quickly scrambled out of bed and checked herself in the mirror, fixing her hair before taking a deep breath and opening the door.

She pulled Sam in quickly and he laughed.

"This place is like a maze," he said, shaking his head.

"You get used to it," Clara lied, shutting the door. "Sorry. If the Doctor knows I'm sneaking boys in, I'll get grounded," she smirked.

Sam grinned, sitting on the end of her bed. "What a day, huh?"

"Yeah," Clara sighed, sitting next to him. "The Doctor and River have a really complicated timeline . . . they always meet out of order." she shook her head. "In our future, her future, River is dead. Has been for months. But she isn't now, because it's her past. Does that make sense?"

"No," Sam said. "But you're cute when you try to explain the space time continuum."

Clara laughed, shoving his arm lightly. "Shut up."

They both laughed, and Clara sighed after a moment. "Do you get stir-crazy here?"

"Oh, yeah. It's ridiculous. Dean doesn't, but sometimes I just feel trapped."

Clara stood, sliding her small petite hand into his larger, weathered one. "Well, come on then. There's got to be a pub or something around here."

"There an old bar about thirty minutes from here," Sam said.

"Let's go!" she said, excited to get out for a while. She led Sam out of the TARDIS, thankfully not having to reroute, and into the bunker. It was quiet, and they were able to leave quickly without incident.

Clara got in the passenger seat of the Impala, enjoying the night air and gazing at the stars.

"You've seen them up close, huh?" Sam asked as they cruised down the highway.

Clara smiled. "Some."

"What else have you seen?"

Clara smiled wider, and looked at him. She described her travels, from the first day she met the Doctor as this version of herself – the other part was a story for another time, not for a romantic drive with a handsome man. She told him about the planets and times they had gone too, and eventually ran out of breath.

She had no idea how amazing Sam found her to be. She was beautiful, and intelligent. And the things she had seen, they made her special. He gazed at her contently as they walked into the bar, taking a seat in a booth.

"It sounds amazing," Sam said, shaking his head as she recounted her various adventures. "I'd love to see it."

"I'll let you come on an adventure with me," Clara said, leaning across the table with a mischievous look in her eyes. "If you take me on one with you. I want to go on a hunt."

"No way, you don't," Sam scoffed. "They're dangerous."

"Sam, I've been around the block a time or two," she said, amused.

Sam chuckled, laying his hand over hers. "You're something special, Clara Oswald."

"You're not so bad yourself, Sam Winchester," she replied, leaning towards him and laying a soft kiss on his lips.

She pulled away, blushing again, and they laughed.

They spent the next few hours just sitting and talking, exchanging stories and trying to see who could tell the weirdest story. Sam won, though, when he told her about the time his number one fan had forced him into a marriage with her.

They sobered a bit as they watched the moon rise higher in the sky through the window.

"Things haven't always been this great," Sam said, and Clara looked at him.

"Tell me."

So he did. For the first time, he told someone all of it; Azazel, Ruby, Lucifer. He told her about going to hell and losing his soul, and then his mind, and then his brother. By the end of his story, he looked as though he'd aged several years and was exhausted.

"Sam," Clara said, her heart heavy for the man. "You're amazing."

"After all that?" Chuckled Sam humorlessly. "Yeah, okay."

"You went through all of that and you've just kept on going," Clara said, shaking her head. "You tried so many different things, be it revenge or moving on, and you just kept getting pulled in. Sam, that's amazing. You've got to be the bravest man I've ever known."

Sam looked at her, really looked at her, and felt something change inside of him. He felt lighter, like his worries were gone for that moment, and he squeezed her hand. "You're really something wonderful."

Clara smiled and then sighed as her phone buzzed. "It's the Doctor," she sighed, reading the text. "We'd better head back."

They left the bar, Clara shivering in the cold night air. Sam shed his jacket, draping it around her – Clara resisted the urge to giggle, like a teenager on a date as she got into the car.

They didn't speak on the way back, holding hands over the gear shifter and listening to soft music. They both were smiling, feeling totally at ease and relaxed.

Sam frowned, though, as the car slowed and sputtered to a stop on the side of the road not long after they had hit the country side.

"What's wrong?" Clara frowned.

Sam sighed. "Out of gas. I coulda sworn I just filled it up the day before yesterday, we should still have gas." He shook his head, and called Dean. He quickly explained their situation, and after some yelling from Dean about letting Baby run out of gas, he agreed to bring them some, and to give him a while so he could go find the gas can.

"He's going to bring us some," Sam said, hanging up. "Might be a while."

"That's fine," Clara shrugged, getting out of the car.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked, following.

They were stopped beside a field, and Clara waded into the soft, tall grass, plopping down. She took Sams hand and pulled him down beside her. They laid in the soft grass and gazed up at the stars, Clara laying her head on his chest.

"So this is what I'm missing when I'm off running around with the Doctor," Clara said, and Sam chuckled a bit, putting some music on his phone and laying it beside him. _Dust in the Wind_ crooned from it as the two laid there together.

"I feel like I could lay here forever," Sam said honestly.

"Mm, let's," Clara agreed, and they both laughed softly. She moved so her head was level with his and looked him in the eyes.

"I'm so glad I rescued you," she said softly, and Sam grinned.

"I'm glad it was you and not the Doctor, otherwise I might be laying here thinking about kissing him right now," he said with a straight face, and Clara cracked up, pressing her lips to his. She laid her hand on the side of his face, stroking his cheek as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. Between the soft cushion of grass, the sound of music, and the sweet taste of her lips, Sam got totally lost, focused on her and only her. How had he gone this long without meeting her? She was practically perfect. She _was_ perfect. He caressed her gently, determined to live this moment for the rest of his life.

So naturally he was shocked when he received a sharp, hard blow to his lower back, hitting his spine painfully. He gasped, rolling over, as it was complimented with another blow to the side of his head.

"Sam!" Clara screamed, grabbing his shoulders before she squealed in pain as something jerked her away.

Sam forced his eyes open through the throbbing pain, his eyes landing on Clara, who was being pulled up off the ground by two large men. Clara whipped her head back with a grunt, smacking the back of her head into the one on her right. Blood spluttered from his nose, and she slammed her heel down on his foot, breaking loose from his grip and turned to attack the second. This one had the advantage, though, and backhanded her across the face, stunning her.

"Get off her!" Sam said, grasping his gun from the small of his back and trying to stand. He received another kick to his back, and then there was a heel on his chest as the gun was plucked from his hand.

"Hey there, Sammy." Abaddon looked down at him, digging the heel of her stiletto deeper into his chest. She examined his gun. "Nice piece you got here. Almost as pretty as your girlfriend over there," she said, jerking her head at Clara, who had her arms pinned behind her by the larger of the two demons. The one with the broken nose twisted her arm with a sneer, and Clara gasped.

"Leave her alone," Sam growled, holding his hands up in surrender. "Go ahead, you got me. But leave her be, she's not involved in this."

"Was that before or after you two started sucking face?" Abaddon asked, amused. She looked at her henchmen. "Get her out of here, I want to have a little talk with Sammy here."

"No!" Sam exclaimed, grabbing Ruby's knife from his sock and stabbing it into her shoulder, stunning her. He brought his knee up and threw her off of him. He jumped to his knees and started towards her.

"Kenny, snap her wrist," Abaddon snapped.

The bleeding demon grinned. "With pleasure, your majesty."

There was a sickening snapping noise, and Clara screamed, tears rushing down her face.

"Stop!" Sam screamed, dropping the knife. "Look, I give up! Just don't hurt her. Please," he added, looking at Clara, who was trying not to sob.

Abaddon snapped her fingers, and the other demon pressed a spot on Clara's neck. Clara's eyes rolled back in her head and she went limp, held up only by the demons. Abaddon gave a nod, and the demons disappeared with Clara.

"No!" Sam yelled again. "I give in, let her go!"

"Oh," Abaddon said, pouting. "Poor Sam. You have really bad luck with the ladies, don't you?" She waved her hand, slamming Sam onto the ground harshly. She leaned down, her knee on his chest and her hand around his throat. "Here's how it's gonna be, Sam," she said dangerously. "You bring me Crowley, and I won't kill your little British pet. Sound good?"

"Just let her go, Abaddon," Sam choked. "I'll let you have him, but just let her go."

"Call her insurance," Abaddon snapped. "Bring him to me at this address," she continued, and Sam groaned in pain as he felt something seared into his skin on his arm. "You've got twenty-four hours, starting . . . now," she said, clicking a button on her watch. She drew her fist back. "For each hour you take, the less fun she's going to have. See you soon, Sam," she smiled, slamming her fist against his face.


	13. Chapter 13

"_Sammy_! Sam, wake up!"

Sam blinked his eyes open, Dean blurry above him.

"Come on, man, take it easy," Dean told him as Sam tried to sit up the quickly. "What the hell happened?"

"Abaddon," Sam growled, flexing his arm and looking down at the address burnt into his arm. It was coming back to him, and he suddenly looked around wildly. "They took her. Dean, they took Clara!"

"Calm down, it'll be okay," Dean said, but he had that look on his face – the _'Damn I hope I'm not lying'_ face that Sam knew all too well. "The Doc had a feeling something was up, so him and that River lady came with me. They just zapped back to get the time machine thing."

As he was speaking, the TARDIS was materializing next to them, and Dean yanked his brother up, helping him inside.

Sam was instantly shoved into the wall by the Doctor. "Where is she!" he demanded, his eyes furious.

"Doctor!" River said, pulling him back. "We need to get Sam back, then we'll find Clara!"

The Doctor furiously slammed a button and the machine lurched. He turned to Sam. "What happened to her? What did you let happen?"

"I'm sorry," Sam panted, and the Doctor spun around, kicking the console of the TARDIS. The ship landed and he shoved the door open, storming out.

"Cas!" Dean called as he exited the machine with Sam.

Cas started forward, but Hannah stopped him. "Let me this time," she said, laying her hand on Sam's head and healing him, allowing him to think clearly.

"What happened?" River asked.

Sam took a deep breath. "It was Abaddon, she must have been watching us. She set us up and while we were stranded she attacked us. She . . ." he clenched his jaw. "She took Clara."

"What does she want?" the Doctor demanded, his voice loud and angry.

Sams eyes shifted to Crowley, who was watching the scene unfold with the others. When he saw Sam look at him, he sighed. "Bloody typical." He crossed his arms. "You can forget it, love. I'm not going to walk in there and give myself to the bitch."

"We can do this the hard way," Dean said, glowering.

Crowley looked offended. "How dare you! Who is she, some worthless human who loses her life in the good fight? Boo hoo, get over it! This is war, war has causalities! Now, why don't you sit down and consider who's more valuable to you – some random human girl with nothing to offer, or the bloody king of Hell!"

"She's not worthless!" Sam and the Doctor yelled at the same time.

Crowley narrowed his eyes at Sam. "I see. Letting our feelings get the best of us again, Samantha?"

"She's not going to die for you," Sam said lowly.

"Maybe she doesn't have to," River said, and everyone looked at her. She frowned, looking like she had an idea, and turned to look at the younger girl behind her. "Charlie, right? How are you with machines?"

Charlie scoffed. "Let me at 'em."

"Follow me," River said. "Doctor, go uninstall the chameleon circuit and meet me out here."

"Dean," Sam said lowly, grabbing his brothers shoulder as the others busied themselves. "She going to torture her, she only gave me twenty four hours."

Dean grimaced. "Alright, I'm going to check out this River lady's plan. We'll fix this, Sammy. I promise."

* * *

><p>Clara came to with a throbbing in her wrists, which were tied tightly behind her back. If she so much as moved the left one, the pain was almost enough to knock her out again. Her feet were tied securely to the chair legs, she realized, as she tried to move. Heart pounding, she sat back and examined her surroundings.<p>

It was a plain, dark room, the only light a swinging, harsh bulb above her. She guessed she was in an old barn by the draftiness, and the dirt floor. Yes, she realized, definitely a barn – hay bales lined the wall to her left, and various tools such as pitchforks, shears, and other old, rusty tools. To her right sat a stone firepit, flames dancing inside it.

"Horrid conditions, aren't they? I work with what they give me."

Clara jumped, startled, at the voice behind her. The man approached her, pulling a haybale over directly in front of her and sitting on it. He wore a simple white t-shirt and jeans, obviously not bothered by the bitter cold. He couldn't have been but a few years older than Clara, and he looked perfectly normal to be honest.

Which is exactly what she was expecting.

"Moriarty," she said, and he grinned.

"My reputation proceeds me. You've heard of me."

"Only from the Doctor and the Winchesters," she said, careful not to use Sherlocks name. "Enough to know that you're mad."

"Mad is a harsh word," he said, reaching for something and holding it over the fire, though Clara couldn't turn her head enough to see what. "I prefer, genius."

"You're not a genius. You just a mad little man with a personal grudge against anyone smarter than him," Clara retorted.

"Like I said, genius." His watch beeped, and he looked at it. "Wow, we've been together a whole hour already. Funny how time flies while your unconscious." He stood, walking towards the fire.

"What are you doing?" Clara frowned, and struggled when she felt him pull down the back of her shirt and coat, revealing her bare skin between her shoulders.

"Shh," Moriarty said, and Clara's heart beat faster. "I'm just going to leave a message for my old friend Sherlock. It'll go a lot faster if you hold still."

Clara's eyes widened as she felt something excruciatingly painful embed itself into her skin. The burning felt like being stabbed, over and over – honestly, she felt as though removing a limb with the rusty shears would be better. She screamed, arching her back in pain, though she was restricted in her movements.

"Hour one," Moriarty said, tossing the interment back into the fire as the pain subdued to a throbbing, painful ache. "Let's see how far I get."


	14. Chapter 14

The sun was rising as the group made their way into the TARDIS; Sam, Dean, and Charlie were armed to the T in guns, ammo, knives, and other weapons. Even John was sticking a gun in the small of his back, and he was fairly sure Sherlock had one stowed in his coat pocket. The Doctor was quiet and sullen, his face lined with worry as he entered the coordinates to the given address. Castiel stood guard over Crowley, whose hands were cuffed in front of him with silver cuffs etched with devils traps. Neither the angel nor the demon said a word.

The others had stayed behind, protecting the base.

"How long has it been?" the Doctor demanded.

Sam looked at his watch and swallowed. "Seven hours."

The Doctor paled, looking quite sick as he parked the TARDIS. "We're here," he said shakily.

Sam opened the door, leading the way out. Castiel escorted Crowley between Charlie and Dean. Sherlock and John brought up the rear, keeping their eyes open.

"I'm surprised." Abaddon appeared behind them, flanked by four demons. "You made good time."

"Where is she?" the Doctor demanded.

Abaddon laughed. "What is this, the boyscouts?" she asked, examining the ragtag groups. Her eyes landed on Sherlock. "And you . . ." she looked him up and down. "We've been waiting for you."

"He's here," Sherlock said stiffly, and John frowned.

"What?"

Sherlock pulled his gun. "Where is he?" he demanded, not aiming it; he knew it would be useless on Abaddon or her demons.

She smiled. "What are you going to do with that, sugar? Putting a bullet through his head will put him down, but not for long."

"It'll make me feel better," Sherlock retorted.

Abaddon returned her attention to Sam. "This is an even trade," she said. "You call of your guard dogs, I'll call off mine."

Sam clenched his jaw. "Guys, go wait in the TARDIS."

"Sam –" Dean started.

"Now!" Sam snapped, and the group backed away, heading for the ship.

Castiel handed Crowley over to Sam, giving him a nod. Crowley glared at Sam, then at Abaddon. Abaddon snapped her fingers and her demons disappeared. Sam shoved Crowley forward, and Crowley looked down, realizing he was in devils trap that had been prepared for him by Abaddon.

The demon smirked at Crowley. "Stay here, sweetness," she smirked. She nodded at the barn behind Sam. "Your girlfriends in there, alive, as promised."

Sam leveled the gun at her heart. "You're not going anywhere until I see her."

Abaddon smirked. "Oh, aren't I?"

In the blink of an eye, her and Crowley had disappeared.

Sam ran towards the barn, kicking the lock on it until it broke. He shoved the door open and ran to Clara, who was slouched forward and seemingly unconscious. He lifted her face in his hands, looking at her. "Clara? Clara, hey. Look at me. Please, god, look at me."

She gasped, her eyes opening. "Sam."

"Hey," Sam said, pure relief in his voice as he smiled reassuringly at her. "Hold on while I get you outta here."

Clara smirked weakly. "This is just like our first date," she said, referring to when she rescued Sam.

Sam laughed in relief, untying her and gently lifting her into his arms. She winced, and it made Sam want to cry for her.

She laid her head against him as he made his way to the TARDIS, the door opening for him as the Doctor rushed them inside. Sam sat, holding her in his lap, feeling like he was holding a broken doll. "I'm so sorry, Clara," he told her softly.

Clara shook her head. "Shut up and kiss me, you silly oaf," she told him.

Sam smiled at her and pulled her towards him, laying his lips on hers gently and desperately repeating to himself, _she's safe, she's here and she's safe._

"Oi!" the Doctor had just turned around, looking shocked. "Wha – what?"

Clara laughed weakly, but as she turned to look at him, she hit her back against Sams arm. She squeaked in pain, a sob racking her body.

"Clara?" Sam exclaimed. "What is it? Clara?!"

"Shoulders," she squeaked, and Sam sat her up gently, pulling down the back of her shirt.

Sherlock shoved past the others, looking down at the marks on her skin.

"They burned you?" The Doctor exclaimed furiously, the raised, bloody welts sending a surge of pure fury through him.

"He did," Clara coughed, trying to recover.

"He?" John asked.

"Yes," Sherlock said, his face dark. "He."

John frowned and looked over his friends shoulder at the girls back, feeling a pang of sorrow for the poor girl.

"Branding iron," Sherlock muttered, standing, his eyes stony. "It's a message to me."

"What does it say?" Dean demanded.

Sherlock looked him dead in the eyes. "I O U."

* * *

><p>Abaddon paced in front of Crowley, savoring the moment. "Uncuff him," she commanded. "I want to watch him beg for his life, groveling on his hands and knees."<p>

He was uncuffed by one of her demons, and the King of Hell glared up at Abaddon.

"Do you see this, Crowley?" Abaddon demanded, stepping back and twirling an angel blade in her hand. "This is me winning! This is what it looks like to lose everything. How does it feel?"

Crowley said nothing, but sighed deeply.

"You're unusually quiet," Abaddon acknowledged. "Are you that petty, Crowley? You won't even talk to me?" She laughed, bringing the blade sharply across his shoulder. He hissed, but stayed silent.

"That's alright," Abaddon said, wiping the blade on her shirt. "You'll be begging soon enough. So." She leaned in front of him, smirking. "Anything you wanna say before we start?"

"Yes," he said, only his voice wasn't his own; it was still British, but definitely female, and amused at that. "Hello, sweetie."

Crowley shifted with the click of a button on his watch, and was suddenly a slender woman with a mountain of blonde curls. Before anyone could react, the cuffs were off and she drew two angel blades, one from each boot, and impaled the demons behind her. She swiftly knocked Abaddons feet out from under her, and stood with her heel on the demons neck and the angel blade poised directly against her heart.

"Go ahead," Abaddon laughed. "It won't kill me!"

"No," River agreed. "But it will certainly hurt like the devil." She plunged the blade into her heart. "No pun intended." She stood, giving a little wave. "This was fun. We should do it again sometime." She hit a button on her vortex manipulator, and disappeared.

The moment she appeared back in the bunker, everyone was relieved.

"Why are you covered in blood?" the Doctor asked, exasperated. "You weren't supposed to engage!"

"Couldn't resist, sweetie," she said, kissing his cheek. "Is Clara alright?"

"She will be," the Doctor said, his face relieved. "She's resting."

"Good, she's going to need it," River said, looking very serious all of the sudden. "Because our situation has gotten ten times worse."

"What?" her husband demanded. "How?"

"Abaddon wasn't alone," River said. "There was someone there, posing as a demon. And I got this off of him when I attacked him."

She pressed something into the Doctor's palm, and he frowned, looking at it. His eyes widened.

"Doc, everything alright?" Dean called, coming in from the other room.

"No, Dean," the Doctor said. "Things just got much worse." He clutched the ring in his hand, turning to look at the young hunter. "What records have you got on the man who calls himself the Master?"


	15. Chapter 15

When Clara woke up, she was surprised to see that she was in Sam's bed. She was no longer in the amount of pain she had been when she had passed out in Sam's arms, but her wrist still ached dully. It was wrapped tightly and professionally, and she was relieved to find it was no longer broken, though it was possibly still sprained.

She looked to her left, smiling. Sam was in a chair, his cheek propped on his palm, fast asleep. As Clara tried to sit up, wincing, he opened his eyes, looking surprised and relieved.

"You're awake," he said, moving from the chair to the bed, sitting gently beside her.

"So are you," Clara remarked. "How long have you been sitting there?"

Sam looked embarrassed. "Oh, I uh, I came in a few hours ago to check on you. We decided to put you in here, so River could get to you easier if something was wrong."

"Was she the one who bandaged my wrist?" Clara asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Hannah healed what she could, but she couldn't totally heal you without risk of making it worse."

"Better than nothing," Clara smirked at Sam, leaning against the bedframe and taking his hand in her own.

Sam was silent for a few moments, staring at their hands. He sighed. "Clara –"

"No." Clara shook her head. "Don't."

Sam frowned. "You don't even know what I was going to say."

"You were going to do the whole 'this is my fault, I'm putting you in danger, blah blah blah' thing," Clara said, and his face confirmed she was right. "And I won't hear it. That could have been any one of us, it could have been Charlie or Dean . . ."

"I wouldn't have been distracted like that with Charlie or Dean," Sam pointed out.

Clara shook her head again. "It doesn't matter, it would have happened and you know it."

Sam sighed. "I was just – god, I was so worried about you, Clara. I've never felt this way about anyone, not ever. There's just something about you that . . ." he shrugged. "That I love."

Clara pulled him towards her, and they laid on the bed together, holding each other gently. "I feel the same," she said softly. "And after this is all over . . . Moriarty, and Abaddon . . . I don't know what I'm going to do."

"We'll find a way," Sam said, and Clara felt a rush of relief that he felt the same way. She tilted her head up, giving him a soft, gentle kiss. Sam smiled into the kiss, brushing some of her hair back gently.

There was a knock on the door, and they pulled away from each other. "Come in," Clara called as she and Sam sat up, still close together as though worried something might rip them apart.

River opened the door, smiling. "I'm glad you're awake, dear. How are we feeling?"

"Much better, thank you," Clara said as River examined her. She smiled. "Is the Doctor alright?"

"He will be when he gets over himself," River sighed, as though talking about a young child that was throwing constant tantrums. "He's quite taken with Castiel. I daresay I may have some competition."

Sam and Clara laughed, and River smirked. "I think you're going to be fine," she said kindly. "Would you like some tea?"

"Oh, that's okay," Clara said, not wanting to be a burden. "You don't have to do that."

"Nonsense, I'll be right back," River smiled kindly.

Sam kissed her forehead. "I'll go tell the Doctor you're up."

Clara smiled as she watched him leave, pulling her knees up to her chest as she thought of her little family. Despite being exhausted and sore, she was glowing with happiness, and nothing could change that.

Except, maybe, for the King of Hell.

Clara didn't know how he did it, just appearing. But suddenly he was there, sitting in the chair Sam had been sleeping in earlier, and Clara squeaked in surprise before huffing, pulling her blankets up.

"Alright, love?" Crowley asked, crossing his legs.

"Fine," she replied shortly. "What do you want?"

Crowley sighed, rubbing his forehead. "It's been brought to my attention that you would not be in this, well, condition if not for me."

"And?" Clara asked, frowning.

"And," Crowley said, looking slightly pained. "I, well . . . bollocks," he breathed, shaking his head.

"What?" Clara demanded.

"Emotions," Crowley said, looking disgusted. "Can't shake the damn things, haven't been able to since I started living in drama central here. Sometimes I just get these . . . _bursts_ of raw emotion, sadness or joy or whatever . . ."

"Why are you telling me this?" Clara frowned, uncrossing her arms and leaning forward again.

"Because for some bloody reason," the demon said tiredly. "Right now I'm feeling . . ."

Clara tilted her head, and Crowley sighed again.

"Guilt."

Clara was shocked at how meaningful and broken the demon sounded, as though he had just admitted to committing a crime. He refused to look at her, instead preoccupying himself with picking at his suit. Clara's face softened.

"I forgive you."

Crowley frowned, looking confused. "What?"

"I forgive you," Clara said again very clearly nodding a bit.

Crowley narrowed his eyes. "I didn't ask for . . ."

"You don't have too."

Crowley looked taken aback and surprised, and maybe, for just a moment, touched. Then his face returned to its stony manner.

"Yes, well," he said, standing. "Of course I don't have to. I haven't done anything wrong."

Clara tried to hide a smile. "Of course."

"I just thought I should see if you were dead," he continued bluntly, heading for the door. "I mean, you could still be useful for something, though I haven't the slightest as to what."

Clara covered her mouth, unable to contain her smile. She sobered and gave a nod. "Yes, I understand."

"Right. Well . . ." Crowley looked awkward for a moment, before giving her a nod, and leaving the room.

* * *

><p>Charlie sat in the kitchen, munching on a banana and flipping through her tablet. She didn't hear the angel enter, and was startled.<p>

"I didn't mean to frighten you," Hannah frowned, and Charlie gave a nervous little laugh.

"No, uh, it's fine. Just jumpy." She tossed the banana peel into the trashcan and smiled awkwardly. "So, uh. What's up?"

"I wanted to compliment you on the way you programmed that machine," Hannah said, sitting across from Charlie. "It was truly an amazing feat."

"Oh, it was nothing," Charlie said, blushing. "I just reprogrammed the hardware in River's Vortex Manipulator with the leftover pieces from the chameleon circuit and used it to create a simulator that can change appearances as well as teleporting. Any ninth grade engineering boy coulda done it."

"No, I am in doubt that a male teenager could have achieved that even with technological advantages," Hannah insisted. "It was rather humbling. I continue to be baffled by technology." She looked a little embarrassed. "What is the device you have in your hands?"

"What, this?" Charlie asked, looking at the tablet. "Oh, it's just like, a mini computer," she said, sliding it across the table to Hannah, who examined it gingerly. She touched it and her eyes widened when she accidentally hit an app and the game popped up. "I don't understand," she shook her head, frowning. "What has the user done to infuriate the colorful birds?"

Charlie laughed. "It's a game, see," she said, standing and joining the angel, looking over her shoulder. "See, the objective is to knock down the pigs. You pull this back," she said, demonstrating by pulling the slingshot back on the screen. Then she launched it. "And aim. Go ahead, try it."

Hannah frowned, clearly confused, but did as she was told. The bird hit the tower in the middle and squashed all of the pigs, and the angels face lit up in joy.

"I understand!" she said, giving a little laugh. "It's for enjoyment!" She looked at the tablet fondly. "I enjoy this game."

Charlie smirked, patting the angels shoulder. "Hey, feel free to use it anytime. Maybe you'll beat my high score."

Hannah laughed as she launched another bird. Her face grew sullen, though, and she laid the tablet down.

"I have a hard time grasping the concepts of human customs," she said, looking worried. "It makes me feel . . . inadequate."

Charlie felt a sad wave for the angel; she felt like an outcast, the same way Charlie had felt growing up and, often, still felt today.

"Well we'll change that," Charlie said firmly, making up her mind. "I'm going to help you."

Hannah looked surprised. "That is very kind of you," she said, blinking.

Charlie shrugged, sitting back down. "I was the new kid once, too," she said sympathetically.


	16. Chapter 16

The group was gathered in the main room once again, spread out. Dean was writing on a white board and Sherlock flipped through his files beside him. The Doctor was standing beside Dean.

Dean finished what he was writing and turned to the others. "Alright," he said gruffly. "Here's what we know:

"Abaddon is power hungry and still determined to take over Hell. She's going to be extra pissed that we didn't give her the real Crowley, so we're on lockdown here until further notice. No one in, no one out without the TARDIS. Abaddon isn't just a demon, she's a knight of hell. She's stronger, faster, and smarter than other demons. As of right now, we have no possible way of killing her."

"Moriarty made a deal with her," Sherlock took over, looking sullen and serious. "And they're continuing to work together based on the message he sent. Jim Moriarty isn't just a regular man; he's a sadistic killer, and a genius. He wants to play games, and win. Believed to be dead, I haven't focused much on him and even the slightest possibility of demonic involvement. And as of right now, he's unable to die."

"The Master," the Doctor began, looking very serious, "Is a mixture of the two; chaotic, brilliant, insane. We've been butting heads since childhood and now it seems that not only has he returned, but he's working with Abaddon and Moriarty. I'm positive he meant for us to find out, making it easy for River to snatch his ring. He wants nothing more than chaotic control and will go through any means necessary to succeed. If he is newly regenerated, then, for the time being, he is invincible as well."

"Well that's just great," Meg piped up from where she leaned against the wall, her arms crossed. "Three freaks, each as un-killable as the next. And they've got a freakin' army of pissed off demons. What do we got? Coupla demons, coupla angels, an alien, and a handful of humans?" She shook her head. "This is a worthless fight. We're all gonna die."

"The chances are slim, we know," Sam said, standing and joining his brother. "And that's why we're going to call in some favors."

"Favors?" Castiel frowned, looking at Meg, who shrugged.

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "The Doc agreed to pick a few friends of ours up." He looked at the Doctor, who pulled the door of the TARDIS open.

Crowley was shocked to see the first person off the ship. "Linda Tran," he said, smirking. "Have you missed me?"

As Mrs. Tran was about to answer, Crowley suddenly went flying across the room, slamming into the wall hard enough to crack the brick. Crowley groaned and rolled over.

"Kevin!" Dean snapped, and Charlie squeaked in surprise when the figure of a young Asian man appeared in front of Mrs. Tran.

"Stay away from my mom!" Kevin snapped as Crowley stood, looking as though he had seen, well, a ghost. "I should go full vengeful on you right now."

"Kevin, we talked about this," Mrs. Tran said, laying a hand on her sons shoulder. "We agreed to get along for the sake of it all, remember?"

Kevin looked angry, but agreed, stepping back to stand beside his mother.

"Call me crazy, but didn't you die?" Charlie asked as politely as possible.

"Yeah. But I guess you could say I have some unfinished business," the ghost replied, glaring at Crowley again, who looked, for once, a bit frightened.

"Sorry, but why is he here?" Crowley demanded.

"Because he is Kevin Freakin' Solo, and we need him," Dean retorted, and the ghost Kevin looked touched.

"And her?" Crowley continued, glaring at Mrs. Tran.

"You didn't expect me to sit around and let you do all the work?" she retorted, and River took an instant liking to her. "If the boys need help, we're here to help."

"They're not the only ones," Sherlock said. He reached into the TARDIS, taking a petite hand and guiding a beautiful woman wrapped in an expensive fur coat and elaborate hat from the machine.

John stood, shocked. "Irene."

"Hello, Dr. Watson," she smiled brightly.

"This is impossible!" Mycroft spluttered, standing. "You were killed!"

"Was she?" Sherlock asked innocently.

Mycroft glared at his brother. "Did you know about this the whole time?"

"Know what?" Sherlock asked, again looking innocently.

Mycroft looked as though he would explode, and Irene smirked.

"Who is this?" Hannah demanded, and Sherlock stepped forward.

"Miss Adler is an expert when it comes to getting important information," Sherlock said.

"You can hardly call her that!" Mycroft exclaimed.

It looked as though there would be an argument between the brothers, when one last person stepped out of the TARDIS.

Most of the women in the room took sharp intakes of breath. Meg fanned herself with her hand, Clara turned a bright shade of pink, and River placed a hand over her heart.

This earned the handsome man burning glares from Sam, Castiel, and the Doctor.

Crowley, on the other hand, was a shade of red similar to Mycroft moments ago.

"Harkness," the demon growled.

The devilishly handsome man's eyes landed on the demon. "My, the years haven't been good to you."

"Have you had work done?" Crowley retorted.

"Who is this man?" Castiel demanded. Something about him made the angel extremely uncomfortable; this man felt _wrong_.

The man grasped Castiel's hand, a firm smirk in place as he looked the angel up and down. "Captain Jack Harkness. And _who_ are you?"

Castiel looked confused, frowning at Meg. "Was that a flirtation?"

"You bet your sweet ass, Clarence."

"Ah." Castiel returned the hand shake. "My name is Castiel. I'm an angel of the lord."

"Yes you are," Jack beamed, and the Doctor yanked him back.

"Alright, enough!" the Doctor barked.

"I can't greet anyone around you, can I?" Jack asked, looking annoyed.

The Doctor frowned. "Jack Harkness is –"

"A pain in the ass," Crowley supplied, and the Doctor shrugged.

"That too. He's the head of Torchwood three, and he's here to help."

"We've got a plan," Dean said. "Alright, Think Tank. Kevin, Charlie, Hannah, Mrs. Tran – boot up some computers and find everything and anything on our guys, okay? I don't care if you have to hack into the frickin' White House, get it."

"Aye aye, Captain," Charlie said, saluting and leading the Trans and the angel toward the basement, where she was set up.

"Team Mission Impossible," Dean continued. "Professor Song, Captain Harkness, Irene, Crowley, Mycroft – you've got influence and skill, use it. We're talking double agents, inside information – by any means necessary."

"On it," Jack nodded, following River along with the other three to the library.

"Doctor, Clara, Sherlock, Watson, Sam, and me," Dean finished. "We're going to work on the big picture."

"Dean," Castiel frowned. "You've forgotten Meg and me."

"Yeah, don't we get to be in a lame club?" Meg asked.

"We need you guys to head out there," Dean told them. "Locations, who they're working for, what they're planning and where – it's all on you."

Sam grinned. "Team Unicorn."

"Hysterical," Meg sneered lightly while Castiel looked confused. "C'mon, Clarence," she added, taking his hand and pulling him away.

"I don't understand, why are we unicorns?"

"Don't ask questions, angel."

"Wait." Cas frowned and turned back to Dean. "What about your team? What are you called?"

The others looked at each other, trying to think up a name, and finally Dean grinned broadly.

"We're Team Superwholock."


	17. Chapter 17

**Hey guys! So it has come to my attention via private messaging that the ships in this story are not quite clear, so I'm going to tidy it up for you a bit! **

**11/River**

**Clara/Sam (Priority ship at the mo, but I'll be shifting around to various ships throughout)  
><strong>

**Meg/Castiel **

**TBA:**

**John/Mary (She may or may not be showing up soon ;) )**

**Sherlock/Irene (I know you guys saw this coming, of course. It may be a while.)**

**Charlie/? Five points if you can guess who! ;)  
><strong>

**Dean/? (Not even giving you a chance to guess this one, you'll never get it. But here's a hint: She is, obviously, from one of the three Superwholock fandoms and no, she is not an OC.)**

**Jack/Mrs. Tran. LOL JK! Or am I? . . . lol I am. But maybe not . . . **

**Anyway, if you guys have any other questions or requests, let me know! I love you guys, in a platonic writer-loving-strangers kinda way!**

* * *

><p>"Are you sure you're alright?"<p>

"I won't be if you ask me that again."

"What? Why?"

"Because I'll stab myself in the throat."

Cas didn't look amused at Meg's snarky comment. The two sat in an old Mustang they had found in the Men of Letters garage. They were parked across from a warehouse a few hours from the bunker. The warehouse was crawling with demons, most of them lower ranking grunts, but still dangerous.

"If I had had any idea you were alive –" Castiel began.

"You woulda what?" Meg cut him off, crossing her arms. "Been my knight in shining wings? Come bursting through the wall and scooped me up, smiting anything in your path?" she snorted. "Let's be real here, Cas, we had fun while it lasted, but nothing was ever meant to come of us."

"Meg, I owe you my life."

"You don't owe me jack, Clarence." She shifted in her seat, never looking at the angel. "It's not worth the effort."

"Well, the way I see it," Castiel began, and Meg finally looked at him. "I was good and you were bad. Now, I'm kind of bad, which is unfortunate, and you're kind of good, which is actually all manner of wonderful."

Meg took a deep breath, looking pained. She bit her lip and looked away.

"I – I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," Cas began, frowning, only to be shocked when Meg turned back to him and furiously pressed her lips against his, holding his head tightly in her hands. Castiel reacted by gently laying his hands on her waist, before pulling her even closer. Meg positioned herself so that she was on his lap, and she hit the seat recliner, sending them both backwards.

She was pushing his trench coat down his shoulders, surprised when he laid his lips on the nape of her neck and suckled gently.

"Clarence, have you been practicin'?" Meg murmured, yanking his tie off and tossing it aside before starting on the buttons on his shirt.

"I've had nearly every book and movie pressed into my mind," Castiel replied lowly, running his hands through her hair before pushing her own leather jacket from her arms. "I'm still sorting through it, but it seems I've learned a few new skills."

"I would say so," Meg breathed, and annoyed with the buttons, just ripped his shirt open. She was once again surprised at the ink on his hip. "You _have_ been busy."

Meg leaned back, shaking her hair back and yanking off her shirt, revealing a simple black, lacy bra. She leaned back down, closing her lips over Cas's, shivering with anticipation as he ran his hands down her bare shoulders and over her back, pulling her to him tightly when they reached the small of her back. Meg tightened her fingers in his hair as he returned to the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck. Meg leaned her head back as he trailed his lips down her throat and towards her chest.

Suddenly, there was a loud knocking on the window, and the two tore apart, startled.

"You kids can't do that here," an older police man said, shining a flashlight in their faces.

"My apologies, officer, we'll leave," Castiel panted, reaching for the keys.

The officer looked annoyed. "Step out of the car, please."

Meg sighed as she and Cas untangled themselves and exited the car. Castiel grabbed his trench coat, draping it over Meg's shoulders and buttoning the first two buttons, hiding her nearly naked chest. Meg tried not to smirk and she pushed her arms through the sleeves.

"You two know this is private property?" the officer said, raising his eyebrows.

"Ah, no, we didn't know," Castiel lied, shrugging. "We were just –"

"Believe me, I saw enough. Ya'll need to get on outta here, you understand?"

"Yes, officer. Thank you," Cas nodded, and he and Meg turned to get back in the car.

"One last thing," the officer said, and Cas began to turn around.

Meg saw the flash of silver first and her eyes widened. "No!" She shoved Castiel out of the way, the blade going through the flesh on her stomach as she took the hit.

"Meg!" Cas exclaimed. The police officer/demon attacked, and Cas dodged out of the way, elbowing the cop in the ribs, sending him stumbling backwards.

Meg yanked the angel blade from her side, trying not the scream in pain. "Cas!" she yelled hoarsely. The angel looked at her, and she tossed him the blade.

Castiel caught it and turned, slamming the blade through the demon's heart. There was a flash of light, and the demon fell to the ground.

Cas leaned beside Meg, who was pressing against the wound. "How injured are you?" the angel asked lowly.

"Fine," Meg breathed, hissing in pain. "He just nicked me, see? I'll live."

Cas started to place his hand on the wound, but Meg knocked his hand away. "Don't even think about it," she growled lowly. "You're weak enough without using up the rest of your heaven juice."

Castiel looked conflicted, but he knew she was right. "What should I do?"

"Hotel room," Meg panted. "Then you gotta make a store run. Needles and fishing line. And some Jack Daniels."

Their hotel room was dingy and slightly dusty, but it would do. Meg leaned back on the bed, threading the fishing line through a thin needle. She started towards her side, but Cas laid his hand over hers.

"Let me," he said, taking the needle. Meg laid her head back against the headboard wearily and she watched Castiel work, hardly flinching as she took long drinks of whiskey. "You ever get tired of patching me up, Clarence?"

"I never tire of assisting you, Meg," Castiel replied, not looking up. "Though, it does bother me to see you hurt. So, yes, I suppose I wish I wasn't so helpless when it comes to keeping you safe."

Meg smirked. "Why are you still so sweet on me, Clarence?"

This time Castiel smiled broadly, looking into her eyes. "I still don't know." He finished the stitches and cut the rest away, laying it on table beside the bed. He rubbed his hand over his eyes, and Meg frowned.

"You alright there, Cas?"

"Yes." He hesitated. "The longer I go with this borrowed grace, the more I . . . suffer the consequences."

"Consequences?"

"Sleep. Hunger. Human things."

Meg leaned forward, laying her hand on his thigh. Cas laid his hand over hers, and looked at Meg.

"So sleep," Meg suggested softly. "I'll watch over ya."

Castiel got a grateful look in his eyes and smiled a bit. "My caretaker."

"Skip the thorny beauty crap this time," Meg warned, but she was smiling too.

Cas stood and shed his now ripped shirt and looked at Meg a bit self consciously before unbuckling his belt and dropping his slacks onto the floor. Clad in nothing but a pair of white boxers, the angel crawled into the bed beside Meg, pulling the sheets up over him.

Meg shimmied out of her own jeans, tossing them aside and joining the angel under the blankets. He immediately started kissing her neck, wrapping his arm around her, and she chuckled.

"Easy, tiger. We both gotta recharge our batteries." She turned over, the curve of her spine and hips fitting perfectly against Castiel's chest, their legs intertwined. Cas had his arm draped over her, holding her hand and stroking her palm with his thumb. After a few silent moments, he ceased to move and his breathing became slow and heavy.

Meg smiled a bit, curling into her angel a bit more before closing her own eyes for a while.

* * *

><p>"What do you bloody <em>mean<em> you've got bumpkiss? I didn't put you on this job to lounge around and work at your own convenience! Now get out there and find _me something that works_, you bleeding imbecile, or I'll sic the hounds on you!"

Crowley pressed 'End' on his phone and slammed it down on his table. "Bullocks!"

"Trouble in paradise, your highness?" Jack asked without looking up from his map.

"It would save you a whole world of hurt to keep your nose out of it, Harkness," Crowley retorted. "When this is all over, we've got unfinished business to take care of."

"You're such a flirt, Crowley."

"Would you two stop it?" River exclaimed from where she was on the phone. Mycroft was a few feet from her, also on the phone with someone. "Some of us are actually trying to get work done here!" She returned to her call. "Yes, this is Agent Malone, go ahead."

"Nothing from Downing Street," Mycroft reported as hung up. "They've upped security to the point where they've hardly got anyone actually looking for Moriarty. You were right though, Mister Crowley – someone did go looking for me at my home. They attacked my housekeeper."

"That's too obvious," River said, on hold with someone. "They're trying to shake us up a bit, make things seem less complicated than they actually are." She frowned as her contact returned. "Yes, this is she." Her face looked conflicted and confused. "No, that's impossible. I've got level six clearance. Says who? Well where _is_ Colonel Richardson? Oh, I believe he'll be quite interested to speak with me. Well, then, if you won't allow me to speak directly to him, could you deliver a message? Tell him his favorite _Song_ is playing. The one with the _Melody_ he enjoys so much. No, no, he'll understand. Yes, thank you. I'll hold." She was on hold for a mere thirty seconds when she was put through to the Colonel.

"Yes, Colonel, it's me. Tough staff you've got there." She paused. "Apology accepted. Listen to me, what information have you got on Jim Moriarty? Wonderful, send it over. How much?" She looked at Mycroft, before shrugging. "All of it."


	18. Chapter 18

"How did you get all of this information, Prof?"

Dean looked at the stack of crates containing files and folders in front of him. River had just picked them up from her source, and was unpacking the first of many, the Doctor, Sherlock, John and Mycroft helping. Sam and Clara were rolling out a map of the United States, and then another of the United Kingdom.

"Colonel Richardson owes me a favor," River told the hunter nonchalantly, while the Doctor looked suspicious.

"This is all on one guy?" Kevin asked, one of the files suddenly in his hand. He opened it, frowning. "This is military stuff. Codes, encryptions . . ."

"Well congrats, Kev," Dean said. "You and Charlie just volunteered as our translators."

"We did?" Charlie sighed as she also flipped through binders. Swallowing, she looked at Kevin, still not quite used to working with a ghost instead of, well, hunting one.

Kevin noticed. "Hey, look, you don't have to be freaked," he said, almost looking amused. "I promise I'm not gonna go vengeful or anything. Actually, I like to think of myself as advanced."

"Oh yeah?" Now Dean was interested, crossing his arms and looking at Kevin in a questioning manner. "How so?"

"Well, now that I'm used to it," Kevin said, shrugging. "I can pick up or touch whatever I want." As though proving a point, he reached out and poked John in the arm. In return, John shuttered and looked a bit ill.

"Cool," Charlie chuckled. She reached out gingerly, squeezing Kevin's arm, and laughed.

Kevin grinned. "I can also move around a lot faster and do things invisibly, obviously, but sometimes if I concentrate I can summon things without even having to go get them. They just appear to me."

"Dude, that's sick," Dean said, looking impressed.

Sam agreed. "Can you do it now?"

"Uh, sure I guess. What do you want?"

"Just, you know, whatever."

Kevin raised an eyebrow. "What's Crowley doing?"

"Showers," Mycroft replied. "Said something about the stench of Winchesters and oh-how-far he had fallen."

Kevin relaxed his body, becoming slightly transparent, and concentrated. In the blink of an eye, he had a wad of black clothing in his hand. He dropped it on the ground, kicking it aside, and Sam almost doubled over in laughter at the realization that they were Crowley's clothes.

"That's awesome!" Dean said, and Kevin looked proud.

"Kevin, what're – oh, Kevin, not again," Mrs. Tran sighed as she spotted Crowley's clothes on the floor. "You're going to get yourself in trouble, young man," she warned.

"What's he gonna do? Kill me?" Kevin retorted, and Mrs. Tran cringed.

"Doctor," River said, suddenly, frowning at a file. "Look at this."

The Time Lord joined her, looking over her shoulder. River pointed at a security photo of Moriarty, walking with a man who seemed to be blonde, though his head was turned. On his finger was a ring.

"Look familiar?" River asked, and the Doctor frowned.

"When were these taken?"

"Only a few months ago."

"So he isn't newly regenerated," the Doctor muttered. "If he hasn't got any regeneration power left over, how did he survive your attacking him?"

"He could have made a deal," Clara suggested. "With Abaddon, right? He could have gotten, I don't know, immunity or something in exchange for helping her."

"That's brilliant, Clara," the Doctor said, looking a bit surprised. "An easy, simple trick on his end. You are brilliant!"

Clara turned pink. "I know."

"So that's it then," Sherlock finally piped up from where he poured over binder after binder. "That's what makes them all three invincible. The demon."

"Of course!" The Doctor agreed, the situation dawning upon him. "And if the demon holds these deals –"

"They would be wiped clean if she gets dead," Dean finished. "So we gotta take down the bitch herself before we can start on the other two."

"Dean, how are we supposed to do that?" Sam asked, raising his eyebrows. "Not even the first blade worked, and you were a Knight of Hell."

"Then we'll just have to find something else!" Dean exclaimed, looking frustrated. "We just gotta re-route some things. We'll send Meg and Cas to see what they can find out about the Knights of Hell and Abaddon, alright?"

Sam sighed, doubting there was any way around this, but he nodded. "Yeah. Alright."

"Awesome. I'll go call Cas," Dean said, heading out of the room.

The room was sullen and silent, everyone quiet and feeling as though there was a constant doom hanging directly over their heads.

Well, it was silent, until a very angry British voice roared from the showers.

"_Kevin Tran, you great prat! You can run but you can't bloody hide forever, you little twit!"_

Kevin smirked. "I love being dead."

* * *

><p>Gravel crunched under the Mustangs tires as Castiel found a parking spot at the small playground.<p>

Meg looked around, noticing an old lady knitting on the bench and a young couple hanging out on the swings.

"Are those all –?"

"Yes," Castiel said, getting out of the car. "Don't worry, they're friends of mine."

"For once you ain't the one I'm worried about, Clarence," Meg grimaced as she followed. "Are you sure this is even going to work?"

"No," the angel replied honestly. "But Dean said we need any information on killing a Knight of Hell. The First Blade didn't work, so there's only one thing I can think of that _might_. But I'll need some coordinates."

"If you say so, Cas," Meg said, stopping as the old lady stood.

She looked at Cas, her eyes stony, before resting her eyes on Meg. Her eyes narrowed and she sneered. An angel blade slid from her sleeve into her hand.

"Calm yourself, sister," Castiel said. "Meg means you no harm."

"Whether she does or not is no concern of mine, Castiel," the elderly woman said lowly. "The fact that she is here is enough to warrant her death."

"She is protected," Castiel said firmly, and the angels looked angered but made no move.

"I need into Heaven," Castiel continued.

The older woman gave a short nod. "You are granted access. But this . . . abomination . . ."

"Judith," Cas said seriously. "Do you truly believe I'd bring a demon upstairs if it wasn't an extreme emergency?" His face darkened. "This is about Metatron."

The angel called Judith looked slightly terrified for a moment before trying to control her emotions. She narrowed her eyes at the two of them; but, luckily for them, she had been a Castiel supporter since the beginning.

"You will be watched carefully," she warned.

Castiel bowed his head. "Thank you."

He escorted Meg to the middle of the playground, where the other angels were creating a portal. Meg looked at Cas nervously. "I don't know about this."

"Do you trust me?"

Meg looked pissed. "Yeah."

"Then have no fear."

Meg took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes closed as they were transferred away from Earth.

When she opened her eyes, she stood next to Castiel in front of a large, black steel door. She looked at it suspiciously, then at Cas. "What's this?"

"This is Heavens prison," he told her, pushing the door open.

"It's not exactly posh."

"Well, it is a prison."

They made their way down the long corridor, the only sound their footsteps on the stone floor. They finally stopped in front of a cell, where a man sat on a bench.

"Well," he said, looking at Meg. "They'll let anyone in these days, huh?"

"Metatron," Castiel said lowly.

"Hi, Cas. Come for your grace, I'm guessing?"

Meg looked at Cas, confused. "You said it was gone."

"It's . . . complicated," Castiel growled, and Metatron chuckled.

"He didn't _tell_ you?" he asked Meg. "Poor Cas here still has some grace left. And there's only one person who knows where it is," the angel smiled grimly.

"We're not here about the grace," Cas said roughly before Meg could say anything.

"Well, then," Metatron said, intrigued, sitting forward. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Cas looked at Meg for a moment, who meet his eyes with her own. Cas took a breath and turned back to Metatron.

"Tell me where I can find Gabriel."


	19. Chapter 19

"Metatron," Castiel said sharply. "Gabriel. Where is he?"

"Dead," retorted the imprisoned angel. "He died helping the Winchesters, remember? He died fighting Lucifer."

"He's alive. You know he's alive," Castiel argued. "I saw him. You made me see him."

"Exactly. I made you see him. He was never really _there, _Castiel."

"No, he wasn't. Not at first."

Metatron's eyes flashed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You created the image of an Arch-Angel, Metatron," Castiel continued. "You molded him perfectly, to fit your needs. But he got stronger, didn't he? He gained power and then you both realized he wasn't just an image. _You_ brought him back." Castiel leaned closer to the bars, his eyes dangerous. "So tell me where he is."

Metatron paused for a moment. "Took you long enough to figure it out, didn't it?" He leaned back. "Sorry, sport, I can't help you. He's tucked away somewhere far from prying eyes and he's going to stay there for eternity. Or . . ." he sighed dramatically. "Until you let me out of here."

"You're not going anywhere," Castiel growled. "You'll stay here and rot for you sins. But you will tell me where you've hidden Gabriel."

Metatron looked at Cas innocently, and Castiel sighed, stepping back. "Meg . . ."

Meg stepped forward now, glaring, and Metatron smirked.

"Are you gonna glare it outta me, sweetie?"

Meg lifted her hand, and slowly squeezed it into a fist. Immediately, Metatron leaned over, coughing and wheezing. Blood spluttered from his mouth across the floor and he gasped for breath.

Meg released him, and he panted.

"Only know one demon with skills like that," the angel coughed. "That you, Alistair? Getting in touch with our feminine side?"

"Not Alistair, angel cakes, but the next best thing," Meg replied sweetly, making another fist.

Metatron doubled over again, blood beginning to trickle from his ears. His face turned red as though he were being strangled, and finally Meg released him again, and the angel wheezed.

"The Apprentice," he panted. "Man, did they talk about you. You were Azazels favorite, you know. So evil they couldn't even come up with a name for you."

"My name is Meg," she replied flatly, sending him flying across his cell. He slammed into the wall. "And I fight for a different cause now." Though she couldn't see him, she could feel Castiel looking at her, and could almost feel his smile.

Meg raised her hand, and Metatron rose into the air. "So let's talk," she said, looking up at him through the bars. "Where'd you hide the Trickster?"

"Does your father know you're consorting with angels?" Metatron replied, spitting blood onto the floor.

Meg looked at Cas, who nodded. She turned back to the angel, and held her head high, concentrating.

Blood began to stream from his eyes, and Metatron yelled in pain as he fell to the ground. "You . . . can't!" he hissed.

"Sweetie, I've been practiced in torture for over four hundred years. I _can_." Meg raised an eyebrow, and the stream of blood grew faster and thicker. "And I _will_." One eye was now busted, a large, bloody, gory spot on the left side of the angels face. He continued to scream, and Meg put an end to the other eye.

"I put him away! I put him where you'd never get to him!" Metatron screamed, and Cas gestured for Meg to stop. She did, and Metatron gasped for breath. "I made sure you'd never get to him again!"

"Where is he, Metatron?"

"_With his brothers!"_

Castiel took a step back, shocked. "That's . . . impossible."

"Not when you're God," Metatron panted. "Which I _was_. Until you ruined it! I would have made a new world, a better world! You don't even know what you've done!"

"Come on, Meg," Cas said quickly, but Meg stood still.

"Meg?"

She looked back at Metatron. Her eyes looked him up and down. His eyes were now completely gone, just bloody spots that were so torn apart, it would take ages to heal - if they did. Now, Meg made another fist, attacking his heart again, and he began to cough blood up again.

"Meg!" Castiel exclaimed, trying to pull her away.

"Where is Castiel's grace?" Meg demanded, her face stony and her fist becoming more clenched. Her eyes flickered black with tension.

"I don't . . ."

"Where is it?"

"I don't know! I – sent it back in time, but I don't know where! I swear!"

"I oughta end your miserable life right now," Meg sneered.

"Do it!" it almost sounded as though he were desperate. "Death is better than being left here like this for eternity!"

"Meg," Castiel said softly.

Meg took a deep breath, and released him. "You don't deserve death," she spat at the angel, turning and strutting away.

"Wha – no!" Metatron wailed. "No! Come back! _Come back!"_

Meg shoved the door open, and Cas followed, and they headed back for Earth.

* * *

><p>"Gabriel. What, you mean, he's alive?"<p>

Dean didn't look convinced. He had seen the archangel die. He'd seen his death, err, _note_.

Several times, actually. Heh.

But now? He just didn't know. Did archangels really die?

"He is alive and, unfortunately, somewhere we can't get to him," Castiel continued from the head of the table. Meg stood beside him, her arms crossed.

Everyone else sat at the table, listening to what the angel and demon had to say.

"Sorry, but, who exactly is Gabriel?" John frowned.

"He's an archangel," Sam explained. "Like, a super angel."

"Wasn't Lucifer an archangel?" John frowned, recounting the old tales.

"Yes, and Michael," Castiel nodded. "All three who are alive and in the Cage."

"Wait," Dean said. "Gabriel is _in the Cage?"_

"Yes; it seems Metatron placed him there while he was acting as God."

Sam was silent, looking sullen, and Clara slid her tiny hand over his larger one, squeezing in support.

"But how do we open this 'Cage'?" The Doctor frowned.

"We don't," Sam said firmly.

"Sam –" Dean started.

Sam shook his head. "No, Dean. If we open that cage, even a little, Lucifer could get out and then we're all screwed. No. We'll have to find another way."

"There is no other way," Castiel said reluctantly.

Sam was obviously getting very upset. "We can't – I mean we can't just . . ." he stood, shaking his head, and stormed from the room. Clara hopped up, following.

Dean sighed. "Crowley . . .?"

"What?" the newly clothed King of Hell frowned. "Nothing I can do, mate."

"You pulled Sam out."

"That was one measly human, and I didn't even manage to get all of him!" the demon argued.

"Dean, he's right," Castiel said. "There's no way Crowley could get Gabriel out. We're going to have to open the cage."

"Cas, we can't."

"We can. We just, as you always say, need a solid plan. This is doable."

Dean sighed, running his hand over his face. "You know what? No. Not this time, Cas. Lucifer getting out – that's gonna be ten times worse than these other guys." His eyes firm, he looked around the table. "We're going to find another way."


	20. Chapter 20

Sam sat on the end of his bed, his palms pressed against his eyes. He could feel pure, hot rage building up inside of him, and he felt hot tears in his eyes. Why didn't they understand? Lucifer coming back – and Michael too for that matter – it would be disastrous. Michael would have his vessel, but Lucifer? He'd find a temporary one and then find his way right back to Sam – and he'd go through everyone to do it. Sam suddenly had a gruesome image of Dean, Cas, Clara, and all the others in a dead, bloody mass in front of Lucifer's feet.

Now angry tears did spring to his eyes, and he wiped them away furiously.

Clara didn't knock; she just came in. Not that Sam minded; if he needed anyone, it was her.

She sat next to him, making him face her, and silently wiped his tears away. Sam took a ragged breath, desperation rising in him – desperate to do anything to keep his family safe.

Clara pulled him forward, resting her forehead against his for a moment before pulling him into her. She lay his head against her chest and he wrapped his arms around her and they just held each other, not speaking a word. A tear leaked from Clara's eye. Even though she had no idea what Sam was feeling, she felt a pain in her chest at seeing the man she'd spent these past weeks with, the man she had fallen in love with, broken and desperate.

After a few minutes of listening to Clara's heartbeat, Sam took a deep breath and forced himself to stand. Clara watched him with worried eyes, and Sam ran a hand through his hair.

"Dean won't let it happen," Clara said softly, and Sam nodded, hoping she was right.

"Lucifer . . . he isn't Abaddon," Sam said darkly, not meeting Clara's eyes. "Lucifer will threaten to kill you, all of you, but he'll actually do it. He will actually kill whoever he has to until I say yes to him. And then . . ." he shook his head. "Hell on earth."

"That won't happen," Clara said firmly, taking his hand and making him look at her. "Because I won't let it happen. None of us will, Sam. Hey . . ." she said, putting her hand on the side of his face when he started to look away. She looked deep into his eyes, filled with fear and pain, and her heart broke. "I love you."

Sam looked pained. "I love you, too. And that's why I couldn't . . . I couldn't stand it if something happened to you."

"It won't," Clara whispered, pulling him down so she could place her lips against his. "I promise."

* * *

><p>"Ouch!"<p>

There was a loud _pop_! and the smell of burning, and Charlie spun around, seeing a piece of equipment burst into flames. She quickly grabbed a fire extinguisher and put the small fire out, looking at Hannah in shock.

"What happened?!"

"The machine shocked me."

"So you set it on fire?"

"I . . . may have overreacted."

Charlie tried to look stern, but couldn't help but smile, amused by the angel. "Sometimes we get battle wounds," Charlie said, leaning in front of the machine to see what she could save. "Shocks, burns, cuts – it's all part of working with machinery."

"These wounds, you have many?"

Charlie grinned, standing, and rolled up her sleeves, revealing little scars of all shapes and sizes from various burns and cuts.

Hannah frowned. "I could heal these, if you'd like."

Charlie shook her head, rolling her sleeves back down. "Thanks, but they're what make me, well, me. They define me as a person."

"I don't think I have any defining traits," Hannah frowned, and Charlie frowned, too.

"Sure you do! Umm . . ." She looked the angel up and down, from her perfect blemish free skin, to her by-the-book haircut, to her dull pantsuit and clunky flats. "Okay, maybe not yet," Charlie continued. "But you could have. What do you enjoy?"

"I'm particularly fond of battle trainings in heaven and flying."

"New question: what do you _not_ enjoy?"

Hannah frowned and brushed some hair out of her face. "I do not enjoy constantly having to remove this hair from my line of sight."

"Okay, well, that's an easy fix," Charlie nodded, pulling a chair over. "Sit down."

The angel did as she was told, and Charlie moved behind her, grabbing her purse and digging through it for a hair brush and bobby-pins. She began to brush the angels hair straight back from her face, lacing it through a hair band into a soft, bouncy ponytail and pinning her bangs back from her face.

"How did you do that?" Hannah asked, shocked, feeling her hair.

"Just a different style. Now it's off your face. Feel better?"

"Very much so," Hannah nodded, amazed.

"Alright, what else?"

"These garments are rather scratchy. It is unpleasant."

"Another easy fix," Charlie said. "Be right back."

She was gone for several minutes, and returned with a basket.

"Okay, here we go. First off: Thongs. One of the greatest inventions ever." She handed the lacy piece to Hannah, who frowned.

"And I wear this on my . . . head?"

Charlie laughed and turned pink. "Uh, no. Turn it the other way . . ."

"Oh," Hannah said, nodding in understanding.

"And this goes with it," Charlie continued, handing the angel a lacy pink bra. "And here we have jeans."

Hannah frowned. "These pants have holes in them."

"It's supposed to look like that," Charlie shrugged. "I dunno why. Looks cool, I guess. And here is a pair of Converse, they should fit . . . And finally, to annoy Sam and Dean . . ." she unfolded a black t-shirt. Across the front, written in gold, was "Supernatural: Fan Convention 2014."

Hannah took the clothes gingerly and stood awkwardly for a moment.

"Well go on!" Charlie laughed. "Go change!"

Hannah headed for the bathroom, knowing it was not appropriate for humans to change in front of each other unless in certain instances. She pulled and tugged her own clothes off, staring at her own naked body for a moment – it was the first time she had seen it – before donning the garments Charlie had given her. When she was finished, she slowly made her way back to Charlie, who smiled broadly.

"You look great!"

"I'm sorry, I don't quite understand the ties on the shoes . . ."

"Here, I'll show you," Charlie said, sitting Hannah down once again. She showed her the complicated process of tying the shoes, and then let Hannah do it herself. Hannah got it on the second try, and smiled broadly.

"Look at you, you're more defined by the second," Charlie smiled and Hannah grinned nervously.

Charlie looked her up and down, and frowned. "You're still missing something . . ." she snapped her fingers in realization and reached behind her, unclasping a gold chain from around her neck. A black and yellow striped "H" hung from it, and Charlie smirked.

"The H usually stands for Hufflepuff," she explained, gently laying the necklace around Hannah's neck. "That's my favorite Hogwarts house – but in this case, I think it stands for 'Hannah' pretty well."

Hannah examined the necklace, laying her hand on the gold metal, still warm from Charlies body.

"You are very kind," Hannah acknowledged once again, and Charlie looked flattered, shrugging.

"Well, we're friends. This is what friends do for each other."

"Friends . . ." Hannah nodded in understanding. "Humans throw that term around very loosely, but it has true value." She stood and faced Charlie, who blushed again.

"Yeah, well, friendship makes the world go 'round," she said dorkily, and Hannah smiled.

"And friends . . . is it a general term, Charlie?"

"For . . .?"

"For two people who enjoy each others company very much."

"That could be friends," Charlie said softly, her heart racing. "Or it could be something . . ."

"More?" Hannah suggested, slowly raising her hand towards Charlies face and brushing hair out of her face as Charlie had done for her earlier.

Charlie swallowed. "Exactly," she whispered.

They both leaned forward at the same time, trembling lips meeting curious ones. It was almost magnetic, and they were suddenly closed together quite tightly, moving in rhythm with each others, lips embracing and tongues dancing.

If kissing a fairy had been amazing, Charlie thought, kissing an angel was something else altogether. It was something almost . . .

_Magical_.

Charlie smiled into the kiss, placing her hands on Hannah's back and pulling her closer. Hannah, never having done this before, followed suit and soon they were locked in a tight embrace.

It ended though, as the two women pulled apart, breathing ragged and faces flushed as they stared at each other.

"That was . . ." Hannah began.

"Awesome," Charlie breathed.

"Quite enjoyable," Hannah agreed.

They sat there beside each other shyly, if not a little embarrassed, looking everywhere except for at each other.

"I always, uh, thought angels wouldn't approve of the whole . . . you know," Charlie shrugged.

Hannah frowned. "Of the what?"

"You know, sexual orientation."

Hannah shook her head. "I don't understand that. Angels are not concerned about the sexual preferences of humans. What does gender have to do with being with someone you want to spend time with? Love _has_ no gender."

"I see," Charlie said, blushing furiously again. They were both silent until Charlie finally said, "Well, what now?"

"Well," Hannah said, looking considerate. "I think I would very much like to do that again."

Charlie didn't need to be told twice.


	21. Chapter 21

All around the bunker, red lights flashed and a siren blared, shocking each individual in the bunker. Clara and Sam both shot up in bed, gasping at the sudden noise, and looked at each other for a moment before Sam jumped out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and grabbing a t-shirt. Clara followed suit, wrapping Sams plaid robe around her.

Down the hall, Dean was instantly on his feet, the knife that he slept with under his pillow in his hand as he frowned in shock. He shoved his feet into some slippers and yanked open his door.

Charlie rolled over in bed, crying in surprise as she fell out of her bed. She jumped up, grabbing her tablet, and ran off, tripping over her own feet a few times. She squeaked when Hannah appeared next to her, demanding to know if she was alright before following the hunter out of the room.

Meg rolled off of Castiel, who was breathing rather heavily. He tried to pull Meg back, but her eyes flicked black and she slapped his hand lightly. "Something's wrong, Cas." They dressed quickly and went to find the others.

Crowley looked at his watch, frowning at the time – not exactly the time for a fire drill, so something must be wrong. He laid his glass of scotch on the table and headed out into the main room.

Kevin materialized next to his mother, who had been up late reading. They looked at each other. "This is what happened when the angels fell," Kevin said, frowning.

"Sherlock! Wake up!" Mycroft had entered his brother's room when the alarms went off. Now, he rapped his cane against his brothers sleeping body. "Something's happening!"

"Do I look like I care?" Sherlock mumbled, but sat up, wrapping the blanket around himself and revealing a naked body in bed beside him.

"What the hell . . .?" Mycroft began, and rolled his eyes. "Oh, for gods sake!"

Irene didn't look even slightly put off that she was totally naked. On the contrary, she looked comfortable and radiant.

John appeared in the doorway, tying a robe around himself. "Are you two - three? Never mind, coming or what?" he frowned, heading down the hallway. The Holmes brothers and Irene followed, but not before Mycroft made her put on a robe.

The Doctor was laughing and pouring wine into River's glass. They were both overdressed, the Doctor in his favorite suit and top hat, River in a long sparkling green gown. They were both shocked when Jack entered the TARDIS.

"There's a problem," the captain said, jerking his head back towards the bunker.

Everyone arrived in the main room at almost precisely the same time. The lights on the tables were flashing and an alarm was still going off.

"Charlie?" Dean asked roughly, and the redhead gave a sharp nod and opened a console, typing in a code. The alarm stopped and the red lights stopped flashing.

"What the hell is going on?" Mycroft demanded.

Castiel was frowning at the map with the flashing lights. "These lights are all angel outposts."

"What?" John frowned.

"All of these locations – angel bases on Red Alert. Hannah?" He frowned. "What happened to you?"

Hannah shrugged uncomfortably. "I now have defining traits." She concentrated. "The . . . 'angel radio', as you call it, has been turned off," Hannah reported. "Something is seriously wrong."

"Go," Cas nodded, and the female angel disappeared.

Crowley was on his phone. "Forty? _Forty_? What were they doing?"

"What's going on?" demanded Dean.

"Those bloody winged monkeys have randomly killed my men!" the demon roared. "You listen to me," Crowley hissed into the phone. "Everyone goes underground now! Except for you. You know what to do." He hung up. "Bollocks!"

"Castiel." Hannah had reappeared. Her face was panicked and she was holding an angel blade in her hand.

"What is it?" frowned Cas.

She shook her head. "Metatron. He's escaped."

"Escaped?!" Dean demanded.

"He slayed one of the angel guards and used his blood to summon a demon," Hannah repeated what she had learned. "The angels are slaying all abominations in an attempt for information."

"Those are _my_ abominations!" Crowley spat angrily. "You're angels are killing _my_ men!"

"And?"

"And call them off!"

"I can't!" the angel snapped. "It is not under my control!"

There was a sudden snarling and barking, and everyone jumped, shocked.

"Crowley!" Dean snapped.

"Buzz off, mate," Crowley snapped. "This is serious." He whistled shrilly and the snarls stopped. "Sic the angel," he said sharply. "Tear him apart and bring me his bleeding head."

"Hellhounds," Sherlock and John said the word together, their hearts racing as the canine presence disappeared.

"Don't worry," Crowley said. "They're mine."

"That makes me feel so much better," John mumbled.

"Ingredients," Crowley said now, turning to the others. "The usual for a summoning. Hop to it, Kev. If you can make those ingredients appear just as quickly as you can make my suits disappear, and I don't mean that in the _fun_ way, we should have had them ten seconds ago."

As he was speaking, Kevin began laying the ingredients on the table. "What's this for, anyway?"

"I need to speak with an employee," Crowley said, mixing the ingredients. "Normally I'd use some blood, but this one happens to be human."

"You have human employees?" demanded the Doctor, and Crowley scoffed.

"I've got _everything_ employees, Doctor."

"Wait, how do you summon them if they're human?" Sam frowned.

"Hush, Samantha. I'm entitled to my secrets." He lit a match and dropped it into the other ingredients. The flames rose high with a hissing noise and turned purple.

The others were shocked to see someone appear in the room. Sherlock analyzed her right away.

She was clad in an all-black, ninja-like outfit, tight on her curves. Her face was concealed in a mask, except for her eyes, which glowed purple for a moment before fading to a pale green, narrowed in anger. Her position was one of defense, as though preparing for a fight, and she had a satchel draped over her. Her belt held a gun – obviously an agent or something similar by the piece – and various pouches. Sherlock could make out different outlines of bullets.

"Give it," Crowley said gruffly, reaching out his hand.

The woman took a step back, her hands covering the satchel. Her eyes suddenly darted to Dean, then Sam. Her shoulders sagged just slightly, and she took a deep breath. She recognized them.

Crowley narrowed his eyes. "Take that thing off," he said lowly. "Go on, love. Show them."

She hesitated, and then slowly grasped the underside of her mask and pulled it off. Sharp features, angry or annoyed or both. Tumbling golden-brown curls. Expensive diamond earrings. These were all things Sherlock took in as soon as the mask was off.

Dean was not as quick. His eyes were wide, and he stared at Sam, who stared back, also looking shocked.

The woman looked mildly amused for a moment. "Hello, boys."

Dean was the first to speak, finally finding his voice.

"Bela?"


	22. Chapter 22

Dean ran a hand over his face, trying to come to terms with what was right in front of him.

"I had hoped you'd look a bit more pleased to see me," Bela said dryly.

"What . . . what the hell?" Dean shook his head, looking genuinely confused. "How are you not dead?"

"Because she's not useless," Crowley stated, and he yanked the satchel from the thief's hands.

"You made a deal to get out of a deal?" Sam asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I took a job offer," Bela corrected nastily. "Trust me, working for the King of Hell is much better than the alternative."

"Plus the dental insurance," Crowley added, setting the bag on the table. "Boys, she comes bearing gifts." He pulled out an antique looking gun and examined it. "Catch."

He tossed the gun across the room, and Dean caught it, staring at it in shock. "The Colt?"

"We thought Lucifer destroyed it," Sam said, standing next to his brother.

"Hid it," Bela replied. "And did a great job at it, too. That's taken two years to dig back up. Quite frankly, I'm sick of chasing the damn thing."

"Will it kill Abaddon?" Dean asked Crowley.

"No idea," Crowley admitted. "That's your department."

"Speaking of Abaddon," Bela said. "She's got every safe house, every base we've got totally surrounded." She looked very angry. "She burned down my house."

"Did she eat your tailor?" Crowley demanded.

Bela looked confused, and frowned. "Don't think so, why?"

"Consider yourself lucky." The demon reached back into the bag, pulling out a small, steel box that was locked. He looked at Bela and held out his hand.

Begrudgingly, the thief removed a silver chain with a key on it from around her neck and handed it to him. Crowley unlocked the box, twisting it open to reveal a small vial of liquid, yellowish in color.

Sam swallowed. "Is that –?"

"Pure, one hundred percent Croatian," Crowley said, admiring the little vial with interest. "Abaddon has been looking for it."

"Of course she has," Dean grumbled, eying the vial with disdain. "So why do you have it?"

"So that she _won't_ have it, moron."

"It's some of the only Croatian left on the planet," Bela supplied. "Most of it was destroyed during the whole Leviathan fiasco."

"Most?" Sam frowned.

Bela looked a bit worried. "Unfortunately what was left – roughly six vials – have been sold to various buyers across the world by a rogue demon that scraped up what was left."

"Buyers? Who'd want to buy it? And why?" Dean frowned.

"Terrorists. Scientists. Most of them dead now," she said a bit proudly. She nodded at the vial. "There are only six vials left in existence. The ones we have, and one other." She took another breath. "And I finally tracked down the last buyer."

"Who?" Crowley demanded.

"Moriarty. Jim Moriarty."

"Awesome," Dean growled.

Bela nodded at the vial. "How are we getting rid of that?"

"Dump it down the sink? Burn it? Flush it?" Dean suggested.

Bela shook her head. "Anything that comes into contact with the virus is infected. Down a sink or a toilet, boom, suddenly it's in the water. Into flames, the ashes and smoke could be just as hazardous."

"Wait, so you've got five vials of Croatian laying around just waiting to get busted?" Dean demanded, and Crowley shrugged.

"We didn't have anything to do with it, mate. Until now."

"Now?" Dean was getting pissier. "What do you have now that you didn't have before?"

Crowley raised his eyebrows and shifted his eyes. They landed on Sam, who looked conflicted, and then realization hit him.

"No," Dean said firmly, shaking his head. "No freakin' way."

"What?" Clara demanded, stepping forward as though her tiny body could protect Sam. "What has it got to do with Sam?"

"I'm the only one it doesn't affect," Sam said quietly, and the others looked shocked.

"What?"

"He's a freak of nature," Crowley said, looking smug. "A human gets the Croatian virus? They go insane. Cannibalistic, bonkers. Except for Sam, here, seeing as he was deemed the Lucifer vessel." His face grew darker. "We also recently tested a bit out on a demon."

"And?" Clara demanded, not liking any of this one bit.

"And it was ten times more disastrous than a human with the virus."

"Sam survived a small encounter with the Croatian virus," Castiel supplied as he examined the virus. "Though it may not affect him in the same manner it does on others, five vials – the amount could make him seriously ill, or worse."

"That settles it," Dean said. "He ain't doing it."

"Dean," Sam said, looking at his brother. "As long as this stuff is around, there's a chance of Abaddon getting her hands on it. We've got enough problems without this."

Dean looked pained and angry. "This could kill you, Sam!"

"Which is why," Crowley butted in, stepping forward again. "We'd need to make a little Croatian cocktail."

"What?" Dean snapped.

Crowley gave a slight shrug. "We'd just have to add a little something to keep his strength up."

"Yeah, like what?" Dean asked, looking extremely angry.

"Dean." Sam looked into his brothers eyes, taking a deep breath. Dean frowned, not understanding, before his face turned to one of pure horror.

"Sam," Dean said, his heart racing. "You can't, man."

"Kevin," Sam said, clenching his jaw. "Go get the dungeon ready."

"For what?" the ghost frowned, looking worried.

Sam looked pained. "For me." He looked at Meg, who was already shedding her jacket. "The sooner we get this outta the way, the better."

* * *

><p>Meg tied the rubber band around the top of her arm with her left hand and teeth, pulling tightly. She clenched and unclenched her fist a few times, before sliding the thin needle into her vein and extracting a tube of her own blood. She removed the syringe, handing it to Dean.<p>

The room was empty save for a few of the team; Sam lay on a cot in the stone room, his wrists and ankles restrained with leather straps. He had stripped down to just a white t-shirt and jeans. Clara sat to his left, one hand in his, the other stroking hair out of his face lovingly. Her face was worried and her eyes were wet. Meg sat on the other side of the room, allowing Castiel to untie the band from her arm. Bela was tapping the syringe that held the virus, and finally Dean, shaking and extremely concerned, sat to Sam's left.

"I'm going to inject the virus directly into your bloodstream," Bela said as she came into Sam's view. "Though you won't feel the bloodlust or regular symptoms, it's going to hurt. You might even hallucinate. The demons blood will keep it from killing you, but it can't protect you from the pain. We'll have to do several injections of demons blood, a lot more than the virus itself. It may take a few days to detox again." Her face seemed to soften just the slightest bit. "Are you ready?"

Sam clenched his jaw. "Just do it."

Bela gave a nod and leaned down, injecting the virus into his right arm.

At first Sam felt nothing more than the sting of the needle. He frowned, turning his head to tell this to Clara, but stopped, his voice caught in his throat and his eyes widening.

Lucifer was standing right behind Clara, looking as amused and carefree as he had the last time Sam had seen in, when he was in the mental hospital.

"Hiya, Sam." Lucifer put his hands on Clara's shoulders, leaning forward. Clara didn't seem to notice, but her face grew more concerned at Sam's sudden shocked reaction.

"Sam?" she asked, pushing his hair back. "Are you alright?"

"I don't think you are," Lucifer remarked at Sam. "I don't think you ever will be." He frowned down at Clara. "Who's the broad?"

Sam gasped as a wave of pain hit him, his back arching a bit. He clenched his teeth together and squeezed his eyes shut, gasping from pain.

He felt another slight sting, and opened his eyes, realizing Dean had just injected him with the blood. The pain dulled a bit, but not enough to make the pounding in Sam's head stop, or to make Lucifer, who was now behind Dean, disappear.

"The way we keep popping back into each others lives like this isn't good, Sam," Lucifer remarked. "I think you may have an unhealthy obsession with me."

"You're not real," Sam sneered.

Dean frowned. "Sam? Who's not real?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Lucifer shrugged, looking indifferent. "Maybe I'm just a projection of your Croatian state . . ." he leaned forward. "Or maybe it's just easier for me to _actually_ get into your mind while you're vulnerable." He leaned back again. "You know, let me make it easier. How can I let you know that I'm really visiting? Oh, I know!" he snapped his fingers.

The overhead light in the room exploded, sending glass in multiple directions.

"What the hell?" Dean muttered, brushing glass from his shirt.

"See that, Sammy?" Lucifer asked, suddenly sitting right beside Clara in a chair. "I'm _heeeeere_." He laughed, amused with himself.

"Get out!" Sam yelled, and Clara grasped his hand.

"It's just us, sweetheart," she said soothingly, stroking his hair again. "Just us, okay?" she looked at Bela, her eyes fearful. "Can't you do anything more for him?"

"Sweetheart?" Lucifer asked as the women conversed. "Sounds serious. I'm offended, to be honest, I thought you and me had something real special, Sam."

"You're not here," Sam said again. "You're locked in the Cage. No way out."

"_Was_ locked in the Cage," Lucifer said, his eyes flashing as he watched Bela give Sam another dose of demons blood. "When you're not all crazytown, let your friend Castiel know his buddy Metatron says hello."

Sam gasped again, this time from Lucifer pressing down on his ribcage, bending the bones.

"He mentioned the Cage," Dean was saying to Cas. "He's seeing him again?"

"Lucifer?" Clara demanded, and Dean looked grim.

"She's annoying," Lucifer said, pressing down harder. "I might have to kill her first." He looked thoughtful. "Though I really have it in for Dean. I need to make a list."

Sam screamed in pain as he felt and heard a rib snap. Dean heard it, too, and looked at Sam, fear in his large green eyes.

"Cas, I don't think he's just seein' him."


	23. Chapter 23

"You're not as fun as you used to be," Lucifer complained loudly as Dean, Castiel, and Meg exchanged worried words. Bela had run upstairs, probably to report the Crowley, and Clara clutched Sam's hand. "The old Sam woulda gritted his teeth and watched as I broke his bones, all determined not to yell and give me the satisfaction. You got weak. Is it the girl? Is she making you soft?" He slammed his elbow into Sam's ribs again, and Sam gasped.

"Sam, look at me! Concentrate on my voice!" Clara took his face in her hands, making him look at her. "Look at me. You're okay, alright? You're going to be okay." Though she had tears in her eyes, she was determined not to let them fall, not to let Sam see just how worried she was.

"Y'know now that I'm out I'm gonna need a certain vessel again," Lucifer continued. "This can all stop know with one little word. I'll even kill your girlfriend quick. Scouts honor."

"You're not back!" Sam hissed, sweat pouring down his face.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. "Oh, aren't I?"

"Dean!" Cas was taken by surprise as the older Winchester was suddenly slammed into the wall, knocking him unconscious.

Megs eyes flicked black, scanning the room. "Castiel, I think –" She was cut off as she made a choking noise, and she grabbed her throat, falling to the ground.

"Meg?" Castiel asked as he leaned to her side.

"This is nice," Lucifer said, grasping Sam by the throat. "The more life I suck from you, the more juice I get back." He rolled his neck. "Just like the good old days. Just you and me, Sammy."

"And me."

Lucifer looked up, surprised to see the girl, Clara, standing next to the wall.

Lucifer looked mildly impressed. "How long have you been able to see me, girlie?"

"Since you tried to steal my boyfriend's body and offered to kill me quickly. That's a nice offer, by the way. But here's my counter: You crawl back into whatever hole you came out of and_ leave us alone!_"

"Clara?" Castiel asked cautiously. "Who are you talking too?"

Now Lucifer did look confused. "You can see me but he can't? Why?"

"I'm Clara Oswin Oswald, mate," she said proudly. "And _I'm_ the Impossible Girl."

At that moment, Lucifer noticed her hand was bleeding, and looked up just in time to see her slam her hand against the wall, smacking the symbol that banished Lucifer and Castiel both.

After the great burst of light had died down, Clara rushed to Sam, wrapping her bleeding hand in her jacket.

"Sam? Sam, are you okay?" She unstrapped his wrists and legs fumbling with the latches. "Help!" she screamed towards the door. "Someone help!" She turned back to Sam, who was barely conscious, and laid her uninjured hand on his face. "He's gone, Sam, look, he's gone. Stay with me, okay? Sam? _Sam_?" She felt for his pulse, terrified when it was just a small beat every few seconds. "_Sam_!"

Rough hands shoved her out of the way, and Clara watched, frozen, as Crowley rolled up his sleeve and slashed a silver blade across his wrist. Making a fist, he pressed his bleeding wrist against Sam's mouth. Sam's eyes flickered as the blood slid down his throat, horrified to see Crowley above him, and he tried to push away.

"No time to get shy, mate," Crowley remarked, raising his eyebrows. "Do you want to live or not? Drink."

"Do it, Sam," Clara encouraged him gently, holding his hand against her lips as tears finally fell from her eyes. "Please. Come back to me."

Sam gave in at her eyes, her beautiful shining eyes, and did as he was told. After a few minutes, his eyesight got bleary and he gasped again. His eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed against the bed.

Clara felt his pulse again as Crowley tied his handkerchief around his own wrist.

Sam was breathing almost normally again, and his pulse was slow but stable. Clara felt a large wave of relief, wiping the tears from her face. Her eyes found Crowley.

"Thank you," she breathed, and the demon shrugged lazily.

"Couldn't let the great moose die, could I?" His eyes lingered on Clara's bleeding hand for a moment and he swallowed. He blinked, seeming to come out of a quick little trance, and narrowed his eyes at the mess around him. He nudged Dean's unconscious body with his foot and the Winchester moaned, trying to roll over.

"What happened here, exactly?" Crowley frowned. "Talbot said Samantha was having visions of sugar plums and Satan."

"He was here," Clara said bluntly, dabbing at Sam's sweaty forehead. "Lucifer was here. I saw him."

Crowley looked taken aback, unable to say anything, as Dean made himself sit up.

"What?" He asked sharply. "How do you know?"

"I saw him. I – I banished him," she stuttered. "And Castiel . . ."

"He's fine, he'll be back," Meg said as she struggled to stand, a cut on her forehead bleeding from where she'd hit her head. "Just give 'im a few hours."

"There's not way he can be back unless someone opened the cage," Crowley finally stated.

"And isn't that exactly what Metatron would do if he busted outta angel jail?" Meg retorted. She, too, looked worried, and Clara remember Sam telling her that Meg used to work for Lucifer.

"Christ, she's right," Dean said. "Meg, go look for Cas. Clara, you good with Sam?"

"I'll stay with him," she nodded.

Dean nodded too. "Alright, I gotta go tell the others. C'mon, Crowley."

"Be right there, darling. Gotta make a pitstop," the demon replied, and the Winchester gave a curt nod before heading up the stairs.

Crowley didn't leave, though. Instead, he looked at Clara, who wouldn't meet his eyes.

"I'm rather good at reading facial expressions, Miss Oswald. Especially when someone wants to say something."

Clara swallowed, still staring at Sam's face. "He almost died," she said softly.

"Oh, I assure you, Lucifer would have put him right back together and started all over."

"That doesn't make it any better." She pushed Sam's hair from his face. "We need more help."

"More help?"

"We don't have enough men. I talked to the others this morning. Jack and Mycroft, they're flying back to England to try and track down Moriarty. Irene is doing the same, only she's going to try and convince Moriarty to employ her. Meg and Castiel are going back out to investigate Abaddon, Hannah, River, and Charlie are heading to the UNIT building in New York to ask around about the Master, and Bela is going back out into the field. Even Mrs. Tran is going to search for more books and artifacts. That leaves the Doctor, me, Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson, Sam and Dean, Kevin, and you. We're not exactly an army."

"What are you getting at?" Crowley asked, but he already knew.

Clara continued to not look at him, concentrating on Sam's face. "You make deals, right? That's what you crossroad demons do?"

Crowley took a step forward. "It depends on the deal, of course. On what one would be asking for."

Clara finally swallowed her pride and met his eyes. "Help. From anything, anyone experienced in this kind of stuff. Please, just . . . someone that can help save Sam. That can help save all of us. Besides, ten years for a lifetime for everyone else? Seems more than fair."

Crowley looked thoughtful, stroking his beard. "I can think of a few people who fit the bill."

"Really?" Clara's heart pounded, and she stood.

"Yes. There's a bit of a problem, though," the demon continued. "Getting to them would be . . . difficult. Very difficult. I'd have to cut off . . . let's see, five years. One for each of them."

"Fine," Clara said quickly, before a sob could escape her. To save all of her friends, she'd take five minutes. Five years was a blessing at this point.

"Are you absolutely positive you want this?" Crowley asked smugly, though he didn't look as though he cared as Clara came to stand right in front of him.

"Yes," she swore, and she meant it. "I'm positive."

"Well, then," Crowley said, a smirk playing at his lips. "I guess we have a deal."

Clara held her hand out to shake his, but her eyes widened in shock as the demon wrapped a strong arm around her back and pulled her forward roughly, forcing their lips to meet. Clara shuddered at his cold touch and was dazed when he shoved her away.

"What was that?" she exclaimed.

"Suppose no one told you how the deal is sealed." Crowley looked amused. "You just sold your soul for a Winchester, love. Welcome to the 'Family Business.'

He disappeared, and Clara bit her lip, holding in her tears as she sat beside Sam again, holding his hand against her head.

"I love you," she whispered, kissing his fingers.


	24. Chapter 24

"_Dammit_!"

A few days later, that one word was enough to wake Sam and Dean at the exact moment. Sam sat up quickly, worrying Clara, and reached for his shotgun against the wall, which was loaded with salt rounds. Dean rolled out of his own bed, sliding his feet into slippers and grabbing his own sawed off.

"Sam –?" Clara began.

"Stay here," Sam ordered, before entering the hallway at the same time as his brother. The two looked at each other, their faces grim, and slowly and quietly made their way to the kitchen.

They could make out the rough outline of a man rummaging around the cabinets, muttering. Dean nodded at Sam, and Sam jumped forward, tackling the man. A shot rang out as it flew wide, hitting the ceiling with a loud cracking sound.

The two men went down, kicking and cursing loudly, and a stray foot knocked Dean's gun out of his hand.

"Son of a bitch!" he groped around the dark room for a weapon, his hand landing on a metal soup ladle. He crept towards his struggling brother and the intruder, trying to figure out which was which. When he thought he had a shot, he swung the ladle, landing it against a skull.

"_Ouch_! That's _my_ head, Dean!" Sam cursed.

"Well I can't see, turn a light on or something!" Dean yelled back, swinging his ladle like a mad man.

"Get off me, you idjits!" the man roared from under Sam.

Sam scrambled off him, and flipped a switch. The light in the kitchen came on, and Sam and Dean stood there wide eyed.

"Bobby?"

The aged hunter rose to his feet, rubbing his back. "Give me that!" he snapped, snatching the soup ladle from Dean's hand. "What were you going to do, _ladle_ me to death? I oughta beat your ass red with it, boy!" He waved the ladle menacing, and Dean backed up, holding his hands up.

"Bobby," Sam said, breathing heavily from the struggle. "What – how are you –?"

"Sam?" Clara came running down the hallway, barefoot and her robe swinging around her feet, a sawed off in her hands. "What in gods name," she squeaked, raising the gun and pointing it at Bobby's chest.

"Jesus, what're you boys runnin' here?" Bobby demanded, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Clara, it's okay, this is Bobby," Sam said reassuringly.

"Oh!" Clara said brightly, shoving the sawed off into Dean's hand as she walked towards Bobby, taking his hand. "Clara Oswald. Sam has told me so much about you." She looked a bit confused, looking at her lover. "Like that you were dead?"

"Yeah, I would like to know about that, too," Dean said, his eyes still examining everyone like they may blow up at a moment's notice.

"Where the hell do you keep the beer 'round here?" a voice twanged from the main room, and the hunters and Clara exchanged looks before following the voice.

A tall, lanky man was leaned over in front of the minifridge, digging through it. When he stood, he had an open beer in his hand, and Clara caught sight of a ridiculous hairstyle and an easy going grin.

"Ash?" Dean asked, his voice full of disbelief.

"What's the matter, fellas, you look like you've seen a ghost," the lanky genius grinned easily. "Look, here. Pinch me, I'm real." He offered his arm.

"Why is this happening?" Dean demanded. "Sam, I see dead people."

"Not now, Dean –"

"Can't stop with the cheesy jokes for a minute, can he?"

They all looked up at the stairs, where an older woman stood, watching them, a kind smile on her face. "Hey, boys."

"You're here," Dean said in shock as she descended the stairs, wrapping her arms around him. She pulled back and slapped his across the face.

"Ow! Ellen, what the hell?!"

"I've been watchin' you, Dean Winchester, I know what kind of crap you've been gettin' yourself into," she scolded and Dean rubbed his face.

"Go easy on him, Ellen, he's still getting used to this," Bobby said.

"Hell, so am I, Bobby," the bartender said, folding her arms across her chest.

"Listen, not that we're not thrilled to you see you guys," Sam started.

"How are you here?" Dean asked, still looking like he was in a state of shock.

"How easy did you think it would be to get rid of us?" a voice from behind Dean said.

Dean turned slowly, swallowing. She stood there as easily and relaxed as the day he'd met her. He was relieved to see her face was flushed and pink, not chalky pale like the last time he'd seen her. His heart ached in his chest as she closed the space between them.

"You gonna say something?" She asked, raising her eyebrows with a slight smile.

Dean shook his head. "No."

"Good answer," she replied.

It happened so fast, Clara wasn't sure which one started the kiss, or if they had both forced themselves together at the same time. But they held each other tightly, hands in hair, eyes closed tight, as the others watched in shock.

"Joanna Beth," Ellen threatened, and Jo broke away from Dean and pushed her hair back.

"That was . . ." Dean started.

"Overdue," Jo finished, and the Winchester nodded.

"And gut-wrenching," Ash supplied, taking another sip of his beer.

Looking at the hunters, Clara realized: her asking for help had motivated Crowley to somehow pull them back from heaven and restore them on earth. Clara felt slightly horrible about herself and bit her lip. Then she frowned, confused. He had said there would be five . . .

"_Guys_! _Guys_, guys guess what!"

Kevin came running down the hallway, sliding on his socks into the open room instead of just appearing. His eyes were wide. "Guess what I just did! Guess!"

"What did you do, Kevin?" Sam asked, frowning.

"I used the bathroom!" the prophet said excitedly.

"First time, sug?" Ellen asked, and Dean frowned again.

"Wait, are you saying you aren't dead anymore?"

"I don't even feel a little dead!"

"I thought you liked being dead," Sam said, amused.

"Well, yeah, _when I was dead_!" Kevin said like it should be obvious. "But now I'm not!" He was practically bouncing up and down. "I'm going to eat everything in the kitchen! I gotta call my mom!" as he was running towards the kitchen, he dialed his phone. "Hello, mom? Guess what? I'm not dead anymore! I know, right?!"

"Well that oughta keep the little bugger from hiding my suits," Crowley said, suddenly appearing behind the others, looking mildly amused. He got a broad grin on his face when he saw the newcomers, though. "Bobby! Hello, darling. How about a welcome home kiss?"

"Son of a bitch," Bobby cursed. "What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

"What, here?" Crowley raised an eyebrow. "I live here, obviously. Dean and I are besties. Ever since he became a demon. Tell him, Dean."

"You did _what_?" Bobby roared at Dean, and Jo grabbed Dean's face, examining his eyes furiously.

"Was, _was_!" Dean complained. "Past tense, alright?" He sighed in annoyance as he got a face full of holy water, and glared at Jo, who had a flask in her hand.

"Sorry," she shrugged gingerly. "Can never be too careful."

"Honestly, didn't any of ya'll keep up with current events while we were upstairs?" Ellen asked in disappointment.

"I was at a Led Zeppelin concert," Jo replied with a shrug.

"I was huntin' with Rufus," Bobby nodded.

"I was invading others personal space," Ash supplied, taking another drink of beer.

Ellen sighed. "Well I guess my heaven is watching over you boys." She looked at Clara and pointed at her. "And you. I like you, hunny, but you shouldn't have done that."

"Done what?" Sam frowned down at her.

"Nothing," Clara lied quickly. "I, uh," she shrugged when the others stared at her. "I went for a walk outside earlier when I got a little stir-crazy."

"Clara, you can't do that," Sam said, looking worried as he took her shoulders. "If someone was watching the place, they could have taken you, or worse . . ."

"I know," Clara said, nodding and laying her hands over his. "I realize that now. I'm sorry."

Sam shook his head. "I just don't want anything bad to happen to you is all."

"Don't worry," she said with false cheeriness. "I'm right as rain."

Sam nodded, frowning.

As the others continued their conversation, though, Ellen eyed Clara with a sad kind of disapproval, and Clara knew she'd have to explain herself later. Guiltily jerking her eyes away, Clara looked at Sam and realized he looked chalky, with dark purple circles under his eyes and his hands trembling a bit. Sweat was forming on his brow.

Dean noticed, too. "Sam, when was the last time -?"

"Hours ago," Clara answered for him as she made Sam sit down in a chair. "Crowley?"

Looking annoyed, Crowley withdrew a vial from his pocket. It was full of dark red liquid, and Clara took it. Dean opened a first aid kit that sat on the bookshelf, and tossed a packet containing a syringe and needle in it to Clara. She filled it and Sam, looking more tired by the moment, offered his arm.

"No . . . Sam," Bobby said, his heart breaking, but Ellen put a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Bobby," Sam said to his father figure as Clara injected him with the blood - they found injecting it got it into his system faster than drinking it, and shortened his recovery time.

"No, hey, you don't apologize," Dean told his brother firmly, before looking at Bobby. "It's not his fault, alright? C'mon, I'll explain . .."

As the others headed for the other room, Clara laid a bandaid over the injection spot - which was unnecessary but she always did it anyway. Sam smiled a little as the color began to slowly return to his face, and pulled her to sit on his lap.

She grinned sweetly, curling into him as he stroked her hair.

They were silent for a moment before Sam spoke.

"Did you see how horrified Bobby looked?" he asked quietly.

"He'll understand," Clara replied soothingly. "It's not your fault, Sam. You did something incredibly brave. Stupid," she added harshly, and Sam smirked. "But brave."

"What if it was for nothing?" Sam was still worried. "If Bela can't find that last vial . . ."

"It's one vial, Sam. It's terrible, I agree, but one vial. That's not a large dose compared to what you took. And you did it selflessly, for thousands of strangers." She shook her head, looking confused. "I don't understand why Lucifer insists on you as his vessel. You'd think he'd want someone more . . . I don't know. Evil. And that's not you."

Sam kissed her forehead. "Clara Oswald, you're the best thing that's happened to me," he said, feeling better.

Clara laughed, smiling as she gazed into his eyes. "Oh, I know," she teased lightly, pressing a kiss to his lips gently. On her insides, though, she was torn apart. If they survived this, her and Sam could be together - for five years. How could she fit a lifetime of love into five years?

They sat there, falling into a blissful sleep, and Clara kept her face buried in his chest, determined to not let him see her tears.


	25. Chapter 25

River pushed open the heavy glass door, holding it as Charlie and Hannah entered. Hannah looked around, frowning at the bustling humans in military attire. River led them towards the front desk, stopping and waiting for the secretary to hang up the phone. She finally did, and looked expectantly at the three women. "Can I help you?"

"My name is Hannah, I'm an angel of the lord," Hannah said, straight-forward. "This is my associate Professor River Song and my human lover Miss Charlie Bradbury. We're here to see Colonel Richardson."

As Charlie flushed deep red and River bit her lip, composing herself, the secretary was hitting a button on the desk. "Security?"

Hannah frowned, looking at Charlie. "Have I done something wrong?"

As Charlie was about to answer, she was interrupted.

"It's alright, they're with me." A woman had just arrived, her dark hair in a messy ponytail and a white medical jacket over her uniform. She smiled brightly. "Charlie!"

"M-Martha," Charlie said in shock, as the women hugged each other quickly.

"Oh, you two are acquainted?" Hannah frowned.

Martha grinned, flushing. "Yeah, you could say that."

"Years and years ago," Charlie was saying.

"We were just kids," Martha added.

"College, you know," Charlie nodded.

River cleared her throat.

"Doctor Smith," she said. "I'm Professor Song."

"Right, of course!" Martha said, taking River's hand. "How is he?"

"He's him, there's no other way to put it," River smirked, and Martha laughed.

"Alright, well, follow me. The Colonel is expecting you," Martha said, leading them to an elevator. "So Charlie, what has life thrown at you?"

"A little of this and a lotta that," Charlie grinned cheekily, emphasizing the word "that" with a slight smack on Hannah's backside.

Hannah looked shocked. "You said we can't do that anymore."

"I said _you_ can't because you left a bruise on my ass."

"It was my first time slapping something affectionately," Hannah explained, and Martha looked like she would explode with giggles.

"What about you?" Charlie smiled.

"Oh, you know. Living here in New York, settled down with the husband. Two little ones and a third on the way." She laid a hand across her flat stomach. "Just found out a week ago."

"Congrats!" Charlie said.

"Would you like to know the sex?" Hannah asked innocently, and Martha looked confused.

"I don't think it has one yet," she laughed nervously, but Hannah stared at the stomach intently and said, "It's a girl."

"Well, that'll make Mickey happy," Martha chuckled. "He's been wanting a girl." As the elevator door opened, she smiled and led them down the hallway.

"The Colonel has been working on this Master thing for years, since the last time we had a problem," Martha explained, sliding a keycard through a slot and waiting as a door opened. "Jack stopped by yesterday before leaving, with Mycroft Holmes of all people. There was too much information for them to take with them, though, so we'll have to send it over." She led them down a hallway, knocking on a wooden door. "Colonel, sir, Professor Song and her associates are here."

The door opened, and a man ushered the woman in. Hannah looked around the office in awe – the walls were holographic, showing maps of the world. It was beautiful.

When her eyes landed on Colonel Richardson, though, her eyes widened. His face was disoriented, and his soul was a black and red bundle of tendrils, so different from Charlie's soft golden light.

"Move back," she commanded the others, an angel blade sliding from her sleeve.

"What on earth –?" Martha said, and her eyes widened as Hannah lunged at the Colonel. Richardson was quick on his feet, sliding to his left. He kicked the angels feet out from under her and grabbed her blade.

"_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas_," Charlie spoke quickly, and Richardson flinched, turning on her. "_Omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis –"_ Charlie was cut off at a peculiar noise. She swallowed, and looked down, realizing it had been the sound of a blade ripping through the skin of her stomach. She stared at the blade, frowning in confusion, before trembling with a slight shock of pain as the blade was jerked back out of her.

She didn't know how she ended up on the ground; she was just there, Martha yelling something – well, her lips were moving, but there were no words coming out. Actually, there was no sound at all.

There was a flashing light as Richardson was impaled by River, who had managed to get the blade back from the demon, and suddenly Hannah was beside Charlie, her eyes wide with fear.

"Charlie? Charlie?" she called, though it seemed as the girl couldn't hear her. Hannah looked desperately at Martha. "Please, fix her!"

"Don't move her," Martha said quickly, putting pressure on the wound. "She's in shock. This wound goes straight through her, I don't think . . ." she shook her head, looking at River and Hannah, her eyes tearing up. "I don't think I can."

"But you're a doctor!" Hannah exclaimed, feeling the odd sensation of tears welling in her eyes. "Doctors heal people, correct?"

"Sweetie, it's a miracle she's held on this long," River said softly, laying her hand on the angels shoulder.

Hannah shook her head. "She – she's too far gone, I don't think I can heal her . . ." Her face turned grim. "I have to save her. Charlie, look at me? Do you understand?" she asked firmly, taking Charlie's head in her hands. Charlie blinked a shuttering little wink.

Hannah swallowed, feeling very emotional. "I can save you but only if you let me. You have to let me in, Charlie. Will you let me in?"

Charlie opened her mouth, trying to reply, but instead blood just trickled from her mouth. Finally, she choked up one word.

"_Yes_."

Hannah nodded and stood, taking a deep breath. "They knew we were coming, the demons," Hannah told the others. "I can hear a bomb under the desk. Get everyone in the building out."

"But what about you?" Martha asked desperately.

Hannah almost smiled, her face grim. "I'll be fine. I'll be with Charlie."

* * *

><p>". . . and then Sammy fixed me. And we've been doing some hunting. A couple of werewolves, a goddess, just getting ourselves back into the game. Then all this crazy happened."<p>

Dean took a long drink of beer as he finished his story, tossing three cards on the table. "Three aces."

"Bull." Ellen watched as Dean sighed, taking the cards back and then some. "You gotta work on your game face, boy."

"Two twos." Bobby tossed his cards on the table and took a drink of beer.

"Four threes," Clara said proudly, laying her cards down.

"Bull," Jo said, and Clara grinned. "Read 'em and weep."

Jo grumbled as she gathered the cards, and Sam chuckled and kissed Clara's cheek from behind her. She was perched delicately on his lap, her legs crossed and Sam's arms wrapped around her waist as they shared their cards.

"Three fours," Ash said, tossing his cards in and puffing on a cigar.

"Five fives," Sherlock said, laying his cards down.

John looked at him with disdain. "Sherlock, there are only four of each in a deck."

"Yes, I know," Sherlock retorted. "Which is why I used the four fives I had in my hand and used a three of spades and a two of hearts combined to make another five."

John and Bobby groaned and the others laughed, though Sherlock frowned, unable to figure out what was so funny.

"Why do we waste our time with these games?" Sherlock complained. "We should be concentrating on the problem at hand."

"The problem at hand is being investigated," Dean said. "And we've all been working on it for three days straight. We need a few hours to, you know, relax our minds."

"My mind is relaxed when I'm working on a case."

"Put a sock in it, Nancy Drew, and have a beer," Bobby said, sliding a beer towards Sherlock, who took it reluctantly.

In the end, it was the best four players facing off: Crowley, who held the reigning championship, because who can beat the king of rotten; Clara, who had been going off luck so far; John, who had a very honest face; and Jo, who claimed she was going to kick them all in the ass.

And she did.

"Alright," Crowley said, leaning back and taking a sip of scotch. "How much?"

"For what?" Jo asked as she counted her cash, which she received when she bet she could beat Crowley.

"You. I want you to work for me when this is all over. I didn't bring you back for nothing."

Clara choked on her drink, and Sam patted her back. Everyone looked confused and shocked.

"You brought us back?" Bobby demanded.

Crowley smirked and spread his hands.

"How?"

"King of Hell, darling. You always forget that little detail."

"Why?"

"Reasons." Clara burned red as his eyes darted to her, but no one caught it. "Boredom. Support. Pick one. But it wasn't easy, mind you. Very expensive, energy and ingredient wise."

"Even me?" Kevin asked quietly from the corner, and Crowley smirked.

"Even you, Kev. You're welcome."

"You got motive," Dean said, narrowing his eyes. "You wouldn't have done this outta the goodness of your heart."

"You're right," Crowley said, and then took a deep breath. "Which is what I've learned in my latest human induced state."

Sam snorted, and smirked. "Couldn't take the guilt when guzzling the human blood, huh, Crowley?"

"Keep your mouth shut, Samantha – as I recall you're still stuck on the demon juice."

"He's getting better!" Clara said defensively.

Before the argument could really get propelled into motion, the door opened, and River and Charlie rushed inside, bundled in coats. They made their way down the stairs, and River looked around sullenly. "The UNIT building was blown up."

"What?" the Doctor exclaimed, jumping from his seat by the telly where he had been messing with his screwdriver. "Martha –"

"She's fine," River said as she and Charlie shed their coats. "Richardson was a demon. They were expecting us. I think they meant to take us by surprise, but hadn't anticipated Hannah being with us. She recognized the demon and saved our lives."

"So where is she?" Sam asked, frowning.

Charlie swallowed, looking sick. "There was a . . . problem," she said softly, lifting her shirt to reveal a bandage wrapped around her middle, a red pattern blooming on it.

Dean was on his feet immediately, making Charlie sit down. "Hey," he said firmly, making her look at him. "You tell me what happened."

"I got impaled by a stab happy demon, and it went all the way through me," Charlie said sheepishly, looking embarrassed. "It was kinda fatal."

"Fatal – Charlie, you're here now, aren't you?"

Charlie teared up a little. "Kinda," she whispered.

"Charlie!"

Charlie blinked, her eyes lighting up bright blue for a moment. When they dimmed she was crying. "She's in me, Dean. She's in my head and I think she's taking all the pain on herself. She won't take control, she just sits there in my pain and tries to heal it slowly." She sobbed, and leaned into Dean. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight.

"It's okay," he told her softly. "Shh, look. It's okay, see? She can handle it. She'll make you better, yeah? And then you'll both be fine."

Charlie nodded, her tears staining his shirt as she cried into her brother-figure. Dean could almost hear his heart break in half for her, and he kissed the top of her head, stroking her back and just trying to help.

First Sam, now Charlie. How many more people would get hurt?

He decided that when he saw Abaddon, he'd rip her lungs out.

And the Master's and Moriarty's, too.


	26. Chapter 26

"I'm going."

"You're not!"

"I have to!"

"I won't allow it!"

"You're not the boss of me, Sherlock!"

The whole room was in a sta two friends fought. Beside John sat a duffel bag, hastily packed. He had just received a call from a man called Lestrade; apparently, someone had shot at John's wife several times.

"She'll be fine, god knows she can handle herself!" Sherlock snapped.

"She's pregnant, Sherlock. Very, very pregnant."

"Well whose fault is that?"

John looked very agitated; he was turning a violent shade of red.

"Maybe we should just bring her here," Sam suggested. "I mean, a lot of the others have already left or are leaving to work on their missions, so we have the room. And you are a doctor, right John?"

John frowned but looked considerate. "That's . . . not a bad idea. Perhaps if the Doctor would give me a lift?"

"Of course," the Doctor, who had grown quite fond of his little group, exclaimed, already on his way to the TARDIS.

Dean looked around at the others. "While we wait, we need to talk about drawing our boys out."

"Top wanted list?" Clara suggested, and Ash gave a nod.

"That's a good idea," he said, grabbing a black marker and flipping the white board to the blank side. On it, he wrote Abaddon, Moriarty, Master, Metatron, and Lucifer.

"Number one for Abaddon?"

"Crowley," the entire room said in unison, and Crowley looked very annoyed – he glared at the rather smug looking Bobby – and drained his glass of scotch.

Ash nodded and wrote the demons name under 'Abaddon.'

"Sherlock, obviously, for Moriarty, and the Doc for the Master . . . Sam goes under Lucifer . . . what about Metatron?"

"Cas," Dean said reluctantly.

"Or Meg," Sam supplied. "She ripped his eyes out, y'know."

"Lucifer is gonna be out for her, too," Jo threw in. "Leaving his side for Castiel, that's no gonna go well with him."

"Lucifer can pick a reason to kill any one of us," Sam said. "And we don't have any way to kill him."

"We'll worry about Lucifer when we gotta, what we really need is an Archangel," Dean said.

"Hannah feels like Gabriel must be in trouble, or he would have found us by now," Charlie said from where she rested on the couch. "Michael, too."

"Awesome," Dean muttered, crossing his arms. "So, what besides the Cage can keep an archangel under wraps?"

Charlie shook her head. "No idea. From either of us."

"Unless they're both still in there," Sam said as it dawned upon him. "Why would Metatron let them out? Lucifer is the one that's going to cause all the trouble."

"He's right," Crowley acknowledged. "You'll have to open the Cage to let the others."

"How do we do that?"

"We'll have to go through downstairs," Crowley said.

"What, you mean just walk through hell until we stumble across the cage?" Dean snorted. "Hell isn't even in your hands anymore, Crowley. It'll be crawling with Abaddon's demons."

"So we'll create a diversion." Sam was nodding. "Cause a ruckus up here so some of us can sneak in and open the door. Opening the door will be a lot easier this time, from the outside, because we're just walking in – not trapping someone."

"Alright, then," Dean nodded. "So let's talk plan. I'll go in and get Gabriel –"

"No," Sam said firmly. "You're not going down there. Who knows what that could do to you, Dean."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Sammy . . ."

Sam shook his head. "Crowley and I are gonna go."

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Dean snorted, and Crowley looked slightly offended. "Sam, if somethin' goes wrong down there and you get . . . messed up, no one is going to be there for you. I can't let you go alone."

"I'll go," Clara said, stepping forward.

Sam shook his head, his eyes furious. "No way!"

"Why? Don't think I can handle it?" Clara demanded, and the room was suddenly very tense.

"Clara, I won't put you in that kind of danger."

"I've seen worse."

"No, you really haven't!"

Clara glared and crossed her arms. "I'm going with or without you, Sam. I suppose if you want to stay here, Mr. Crowley and I will go instead."

"I wouldn't leave you alone with him for two seconds!" Sam said angrily.

"Then I guess you're coming with us," Clara said, turning the tables. "Because I'm going."

Sam wanted to argue, but he knew they were right; they'd have a better chance with three than with four.

"Harvelle and co, you're with me. Professor Song, Charlie – err, Hannah – Harlie, I guess . . . Let's confuse the hell outta some bad guys," Dean said.

The war was officially beginning.

At midnight, Dean, Jo, Charlie and River arrived at the warehouse Cas and Meg had investigated. Ellen, Bobby, and Ash were in the truck behind them. As they all exited the vehicles, blades and guns were distributed.

"All right," Dean said. "Here's the plan: Go in there and stab stuff. Any questions? Awesome. Jo?"

Jo nodded and sent a text to Sam. _It's a go._

Sam was pacing when he received the message. He looked at Crowley and Clara, swallowed, and nodded.

Crowley snapped his fingers.

In the blink of an eye, they were suddenly all three standing in a filthy black cell. The sounds of screaming and begging could be heard all around them, and the stench of sulfur and sweat rose in the air.

"What's the plan?" Clara whispered to them as they opened the door a little.

"I've got one," Crowley whispered back, and he placed both hands on Clara's shoulders and shoved her into the hallway.

She stumbled back, landing against the wall, but she didn't notice that; two demons were already upon her, eyes black and faces sneering. Gasping, Clara stabbed one through the chest with her angel blade, forcing it through the demon's flesh and bone with both hands. The other was shocked, but only for a moment, as the next moment a blade was forced through its chest by Crowley.

More demons were arriving, and Sam shoved Clara behind him, killing two in a single swipe, slashing their necks. Clara moved to stand back to back with him, stabbing another one herself as Sam took on one more. Crowley had two bodies at his feet and was finishing with a third.

The three of them stood there in shock for a moment.

"Lovely job, dear," Crowley nodded to Clara. "You make great bait."

Sam crossed the hallway in one swift motion, his arm pressed against Crowley's throat and his blade pointed at his heart. "If you _ever_ do that again . . ."

Clara put a hand on Sam's arm. "It's okay. Look, I'm fine."

"That was a cheap trick," Sam growled, really tempted to stab his blade through the demon's chest.

"By all means, mate, I much rather would have used you," Crowley said calmly. "But you're the size of a bloody giraffe, aren't you?"

"Boys," Clara cleared her throat. "We need to get going before the others arrive. They're bound to notice Dean's attack is staged at some point."

Sam was still irate, but he removed his arm, shoving past Crowley and pulling Clara directly in front of him, where he could see her.

They walked for quite a ways, Crowley giving directions and the three occasionally stopping to fight some of Abaddon's supporters. Finally, they stopped in front of a huge wrought iron door, thicker than a safe and surrounded by an archway of fire.

"Holy fire," Crowley informed them. "We need a few key ingredients to get the door open." He slid his palm open with a silver knife, and pressed the gushing wound against the door. As the blood trickled down the door, locks tumbled and clicked.

"There's the demon blood," Crowley said bitterly, before pulling a vial of blood from his coat. He opened the vial and tossed it on the door, letting it drip over the demon blood; it made a violent hissing noise and steamed.

"Would have been nice if it was fresh, but I work with what dear Castiel gives me," Crowley said. "Miss Oswald?"

"Whoa, hey, maybe I should," Sam said, stopping Clara from sliding the blade across her palm.

She shook her head. "You've still got demon blood in your system, Sam. It should be pure human." With a quick flick of the blade, she pressed her bloody wound against the door. The final locks fell out of place, and the door opened with a rumbling sound.

Sam's heart was beating fast and hard as they entered the Cage, and he froze for a moment, memories of his time locked in here rushing through his head.

"Sam," Clara said gently. "Just wait here, okay? We'll just grab Gabriel and Michael and be right out, alright? Just, wait here." She turned, jogging back to Crowley.

"I see you haven't told him about our little agreement," Crowley remarked.

"I don't see why he needs to know," Clara replied, squinting into the darkness.

"Relationships don't go well when based on lies, love," Crowley told her, taking a few steps forward.

"What do you know about relationships?"

"Lots. I consider you and me great friends, for example."

"You just threw me to the demons!"

"So? That doesn't mean I don't like you."

"Well, well, well, if it ain't his Royal Highness Sir Dicksalot." The mocking voice was suddenly behind them, and both Clara and Crowley spun around. He was dirty and looked exhausted - and he had an angel blade in his hand. "You guys make the decoys more and more lifelike every day. Your Sam Winchester trick was easy, one blow to the head and he was out like a light." He twirled the blade. "Which one of you wants to go next?"

"We're not fakes, you winged monkey," Crowley replied. "We're here to get you out of here, you and your brother."

Gabriel's eyes flashed. "My brother is gone."

"What happened?" Clara asked, and Gabriel's eyes darted to her.

"I don't know you," he said, narrowing his eyes.

"Please," Clara said, taking a step forward. "I'm a friend of Castiel's. We've been searching for you."

"Castiel is alive?"

"For the mo'," Crowley supplied. "His grace is fading rather fast. Listen, I'd love to sit and chat, but this place is about to be swarming with Abaddon supporters and we need to go _now_. Can you fly us out of here or not?"

"Are you kidding? I don't have any power left at the moment, I use it fighting my way through the Cage everyday."

"Then we have to hurry." He nodded at Clara. "Go tend to your Moose. We'll be with you shortly."

Clara nodded and ran back towards the front of the cage, leaning next to Sam, who was indeed unconscious. She felt his head and was relieved that there was no blood; he was just knocked out.

"Sam," Clara said gently, slapping the side of his face gently. "Sam, wake up, we've got to go." She shook him. "Come on, you great oaf, get off your bum." He groaned, and Clara was relieved. "Up and at 'em, sunshine." She pressed her lips against his, and she almost laughed in relief when she felt his mouth respond and a strong hand on her back.

"Should we leave and come back?" Crowley demanded, and Clara pulled away, smiling as Sam struggled to sit up.

"Sorry, Sasquatch," Gabriel said, helping the Winchester up. "To be fair I thought you were a demon. But hey, you need the beauty rest."

"Remind me to kick your ass later," Sam groaned, and Clara grinned.

They followed Crowley out, the demons coming thicker and faster through the tunnels as they neared the spot they had come in. In the blink of an eye, they were back in the bunker, filthy, sweaty, and panting for breath.

Dean was on the couch, stitching up a cut on Jo's arm. Bobby was drinking whiskey from the bottle and wrapping his knee. Ellen was unharmed for the most part, a little bruised here and there, but nothing major. Ash and River were almost totally unscathed; Sam imagined River must have a lot of training, and Ash probably shot from a distance.

"Everyone alright?" Dean grunted, and Sam gave a nod.

"Headache," he said, glaring at Gabriel, who had snatched the whiskey bottle from Bobby.

"Where's the other one?" Jo frowned.

"Michael is gone," Gabriel said roughly, and no one asked him to explain.

The door opened, and Meg and Cas entered. While Meg looked shocked and uncomfortable at Ellen and Jo's aliveness, Castiel looked relieved.

"Hey, bro," Gabriel said weakly.


	27. Chapter 27

"So how drained are you?" Dean asked Gabriel the next morning, after everyone had rested. Currently,Clara was giving Sam his very last dose of demon's blood at the table; Jo and Ellen were cooking breakfast; Ash was sitting beside Charlie, the two discussing their computers and systems; John and his very pregnant wife Mary had just woken up and were arriving in the kitchen; Sherlock was laying on the couch, his eyes closed; the Doctor and River were talking quietly in the corner; Kevin and Bobby were bonding; Meg was trying not to look awkward, even though Jo had told her she'd done more than enough for the boys to redeem herself; and Castiel and Crowley were discussing something in hushed voices.

"I'll bounce back in a few days," the archangel replied, taking a bite from a candy bar. "Ass-tiel, what's this I hear about your dwindling grace?"

"Castiel had his grace taken forcefully by Metatron," Charlie said bluntly, her eyes flashing bright blue. "And there is still some left, though Metatron is not exactly sure where. He sent it back in time to hide it. Castiel has had to borrow grace of the fallen."

"Is that Hannah in there?" Gabriel looked amused, waving into Charlie eyes. "Hannah, whatcha doin' in that girl?"

"Charlie is my human lover and I am healing her fatal wounds from the inside," Charlie replied. She blinked rapidly, and frowned, huffing. "Hannah, we talked about this! You gotta give me a little warning before using the voice box, remember?" she sighed. "It's 'kay, I forgive you."

"Weird," Gabriel remarked, his mouth full of chocolate.

Meg gasped rather suddenly, her eyes widening.

"Meg?" Dean frowned.

"I'm being summoned," she said, her eyes flicking black. "It's Lucifer." She was obviously trying very hard to ignore the summoning, but it was also obviously causing her physical pain.

Cas reached out, grabbing her hand and yanking her into the living room. He shoved her inside a broken devils trap and filled it in, making it complete and trapping her.

Meg looked relieved; she couldn't answer the summoning if she was trapped, and Lucifer would eventually give up and move on to other matters.

"Thanks," she smiled.

Cas stepped into the devil's trap, frowning. "You don't look well, Meg."

"Thanks, Cas."

"Are you alright? Are you feeling ill?"

Meg shrugged. "I'm exhausted," she said, lowering herself and sitting on the floor. Cas followed suit, pulling Meg back to lean against him as he rubbed her temples. Meg closed her eyes in bliss.

"Do ya love me, Clarence?" she asked, a slight smirk on her lips and her eyes still closed as Cas continued to rub gentle circles on her temples.

"That is . . . a difficult question," the angel admitted, thinking about it. "For a long time I had no concept of love, of any emotion really, so gaining these emotions has shown me a new light. Now I feel pain, emotionally I mean, and joy, and, yes, I think love. Though perhaps my love is a different kind as I'm not human."

"So do you?"

Castiel smiled just the slightest smirk. "Yes, Meg, I love you."

They were both totally quiet and content for several minutes, before Cas hesitantly asked, "Do you love _me_, Meg?"

She opened her eyes, a smirk still firmly in place as she grabbed his tie and pulled him down towards her.

"What do you think?" she murmured, laying her lips against his and enjoying his taste and feel. Cas had never kissed upside down before, and it certainly was an odd sensation, one he enjoyed very much. The way Castiel's lips were always cool and soft, Meg's were always feverishly hot and slightly rough, and the combination fit well together. It made a world of its own.

"For the love of Dad, can this place get any weirder?" Gabriel leaned against the wall, another candy bar in his hand as he watched the two in their romantic moment. "Between the King of Hell bunking with our Winchester boys and a coupla not so dead guys in the kitchen, I didn't know there was a time for a forbidden romance."

"Ya know, I think I liked you better when you were in the Cage," Meg remarked. She stood, pulling Cas up with her. "Lucifer stopped, for now," she said. "You can let me out."

Castiel frowned. "But you'd be safer in here."

"I'm not gonna sit here, angel. Let me out."

Reluctantly, Cas scraped away part of the trap, and Meg stepped out of it.

"What's the plan for the day?" Meg asked, stretching.

While she discussed what to do, across the room John and Mary were sitting with Sherlock on the sofa, talking quietly.

"So you two are doing better," Sherlock remarked, and Mary smiled a bit, slipping her hand into John's. "What's the baby's name?"

"Stop asking, we won't tell," Mary said again.

"I could guess it, I suppose," Sherlock said. "Have you got that ridiculous baby name book with you?"

Mary pulled the book out of her bag and handed it to the consulting detective.

Sherlock opened it, his eyes scanning for several things. First, he found the pages most worn – they were the ones most looked at and fawned over. The most worn of these pages was in the girls names, in the C's. His eyes searched the names, ruling out some obviously horrible names. Finally, he closed the book and stared at John and Mary, who stared back in amusement, doubting his ability in this one thing.

"Christine is a lovely name, I think, you've chosen well," Sherlock finally said.

Mary and John both groaned. "Come on, that's not even fair! John told you!"

"I didn't!" John swore, shaking his head. "He does this on his own. It's annoying."

As the argument was about to continue, there was suddenly a rush of movement in the room as the others arrived, weapons in hands and grim expressions.

"What is it?" Sherlock demanded, standing.

Dean leaned an odd looking knife in a leather sheath and clipped it to his belt. "We're going after Abaddon."

"Without your friend being at full power?" Mary frowned. She, unlike John, was taking all of this in stride.

Castiel gave a nod. "While we wait for Gabriel to recharge, as you say, we're going to capture Abaddon and question her. When we're finished, she'll die."

"Lovely plan," Mary said bluntly, and John looked a bit sick.

"Alright, we're gonna draw her out," Dean said, addressing the group.

"How?" Ellen asked frowning.

"Well, Abaddon snatched Clara, to get to Sam, to get to Crowley," Dean said.

"And?" Bobby frowned.

Dean grinned, draping an arm around Jo's shoulders. "So I'm takin' Jo on a date."


	28. Chapter 28

"This is crazy, Dean."

Dean grinned. "Impulse, baby. You, mean, and the open road."

He drove Baby through the crowded city; after driving for hours, they had finally arrived in the bustling city of Las Vegas. It was late in the evening, and all the lights were on, flashing and bright. Dean was met with the overwhelming urge to hit the blackjack tables, but he resisted.

"You sure about this?" Jo asked, biting her pinkie nail in anxiousness.

"No, but when am I ever sure about anything?" Dean said.

Earlier, when they knew it was so late that none of the others would be awake, Dean and Jo sneaked out of the bunker, a few small bags packed and giggling, occasionally stopping for a long, sensual kiss. They held hands over the gear shift in the Impala, glancing at each other lovingly now and then.

Now, they had finally arrived at their destination, and the two got out of the car, taking hands and running inside, laughing in joy and adrenaline.

"Here for your appointment?" an elderly woman at the front desk asked.

Dean wrapped his arms around Jo, kissing her forehead. "Dean Winchester and Johanna Harvelle, that's us," he said, grinning broadly.

The woman nodded and jerked her head at the back. "Come on, dear. We'll get your ready."

"See you soon," Dean grinned, giving Jo another quick kiss.

"Bye," she said, following the elderly woman.

Dean went towards the older man who was waiting for him.

"You're tall," he remarked.

"You should see my brother," Dean retorted, chuckling, as he followed the man.

Dean dressed quickly in a nice black tux, tying on a white bow tie. He ran a hand through his hair nervously, his heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. He swallowed as the old man handed him a yellow rose for his lapel. Taking a deep breath, Dean went into the small church and stood at the front, where a man dressed as Elvis was waiting boredly and an old woman played the organ.

"You ready to rock and roll, sonny?" Elvis asked, and Dean took another deep breath, rubbing his hands together.

"Think so," Dean nodded, and Elvis nodded at the organ lady, who started playing.

The church doors opened and Jo, wearing a simple, short white dress entered, holding a bouquet of yellow and white roses. A veil of lace covered her hair and her elegant heels showed off her legs, and Dean couldn't help but stare.

As she slowly walked down the aisle, she smiled at Dean, who smiled back broadly. When she arrived to face him, he gently pushed her veil back. He stared into her blushing face and smiled.

"Dearly beloved," Elvis began, reading from a rhinestone encrusted bible. "We are gathered here today to celebrate the joining of these two crazy kids in matrimony. Ya'll got the rings?"

Dean nodded, pulling a small ring from his pocket. Jo had one in her hand as well.

"Now ya'll go 'head and exchange them beautiful rings and then look on back up here at ol' Bubba," Elvis continued, and Dean slid the ring onto Jo's finger gently, and then she did the same.

"Alright now . . . Dean," Elvis said, reading the name off the paper. "Do you take this woman to have and hold, in sickness and in health, and promise to love her and care for her and never go messin' 'round?"

"I do," Dean said firmly, staring into Jo's eyes.

"Alrighty then . . . Jo," Elvis continued. "Do you promise the same thing?"

"I do," Jo said, smiling brightly.

"Well okay then, now it's a party. By the power invested in me by the glorious state of Nevada, I pronounce ya'll joined in holy matrimony. Dean Winchester, you can kiss your bride."

This is it, Dean thought. This is the moment.

He leaned in slowly, taking Jo's head gently in one hand and her shoulder in the other as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Their lips neared each others, almost touching.

"I hate to be the one to ruin this moment," said a female's voice, and Dean and Jo broke apart, shocked.

Abaddon sat in the first pew, wearing a black dress, her elegant legs crossed. She looked smug and amused.

"Dean?" Jo asked, her hand on his arm. "W-what's going on?"

"How did you find us?" Dean demanded, his eyes flashing. "We made sure we weren't being followed."

"Oh, Dean, Dean, Dean," Abaddon said, standing and swaggering towards them. "_Always_ assume you're being watched."

"Look, we don't know where Crowley is," Dean said, pushing Jo behind him a bit. "He took off weeks ago."

"First off, that's a big lie," Abaddon crooned, examining him. She pushed Jo out of the way, backing Dean against the wall. "Second, this is a lot bigger than Crowley now, kitten." She ran a finger down his face, and Dean grimaced. "Lucifer is back. Hail Satan."

"We heard," Dean sneered. "And we weren't impressed."

"Where's your brother, Dean?"

"Why don't you choke on a –"

"Ooh, easy there, tiger," Abaddon said, shoving away from Dean and circling Jo, who looked sick with fear. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves." She laid her cold hands gently on Jo's shoulder, leaning close to the girl's ear. "You made a mistake getting involved with this one, sweetie," she told her, her eyes never leaving Dean's. "Do you know the truth about him? What he does, what he is?" she crooned.

Jo frowned. "Dean?"

"Jo, don't listen to her, it's not important," Dean warned, and Abaddon laughed.

"He's a monster, a serial killer," she continued. "Kills for the pure pleasure of it." She wrapped her hand around Jo's throat, choking her. "Kinda like me."

"Nothing like you," Dean retorted.

"Knights of Hell, sugar," Abaddon said sweetly, squeezing Jo's throat. "Peas in a pod. How are we not alike?"

"Well," Dean said, and he smiled. "I'm smarter than you, for one thing."

Jo quickly pulled a blade from her bouquet and stabbed Abaddon in the stomach, causing enough distress for a moment. She slammed her fist against the demon's face, and reached under a pew, yanking a sawed off from the underside of it and cocking it.

Abaddon spun around to see the elderly couple spreading salt in front of the door and windows. Her eyes widened, and she spun around to look at Dean. She narrowed her eyes. "Did you just lock me in a room full of innocent bystanders? Ballsy, Dean, I like it." She yanked the blade from her stomach and threw it. It caught Elvis in the shoulder, and he grunted, stumbling back. He looked stunned for a moment, before yanking the blade back out of his shoulder and tossing it aside.

Abaddon looked shocked, and her eyes widened in surprise as a bullet tore through her skin and landed in her heart, suspended in the blood and tissue. She felt searing pain and hissed as she realized it was a devil's trap bullet.

The elderly woman lifted a candlestick and smacked Abaddon over the head with it, knocking the now powerless demon unconscious.

Dean, Jo, and Elvis gathered around and stared at the body.

"Welp," Dean said after a moment. "Nobody died." He looked at the ring on his finger. "So where'd you get this?"

"Paid a quarter for it at an arcade," Jo said. "What about you?"

"Cereal box," Dean nodded, leaning down and cuffing Abaddon's hands behind her back and then pulling a bag over her face. "Smooth moves there, Elvis."

"I'm awesome," Elvis said as he pulled his sunglasses and wig off, revealing a fresh young face and glowing yellow eyes. The eyes dimmed to brown and he smiled broadly. "Did you see that? She totally bought it. All of it! I'm awesome."

Dean grinned, standing and clapping him on the back.

"Yeah, man. You're awesome." He looked down at the unconscious Abaddon, still smirking. "You just got Garth'd, bitch."


	29. Chapter 29

**Warning: containing intense torture. Because I really f*#&ing hate Abaddon. **

Crowley rolled his sleeves up and tied his apron on, determined not to ruin another suit with blood stains. He pulled a cover off of a tray, revealing various tools; blades, razors, holy water, salt, knives, icepicks, you name it. He picked up a pair of shears and examined them.

Meg, on the other side of the table, poured some salt and holy water into a bottle, mixing it, careful not to spill a drop on her. She dipped Ruby's knife in the concoction and let it sit for a few minutes.

"Torture? Really?" Abaddon called from where she was bound in chains in the dungeon. "How mediocre do you think I am? I'm a Knight of Hell, for Satan's sake."

"But I'm the King of Hell," Crowley retorted, laying the shears down. "I know a thing or two. Not to mention my associate here."

"You smell like an angel," Abaddon said to Meg snarkily. "Oh, Lucifer will love that. He'll eat it right up. His most loyal, abandoning him for an angel. You're a disgrace."

"So I've heard," Meg said, unconcerned, as she pulled the cart containing the weapons into the room.

"You don't even know the kind of torture waiting for you," Abaddon said, pleased.

"I think I do," Meg said, arching an eyebrow. "I perfected all of those methods myself." Her eyes flashed in amusement. "Hi, I'm Meg. They used to call me the Apprentice."

"The Apprentice died with Alistair," Abaddon hissed, and even Crowley chuckled.

"You'll be singing a different tune here soon, love. Meg, by all means," he said, gesturing to the table.

Meg selected the shears, examining the woman in front of her.

"You know, you've got a gorgeous body here," Meg remarked. "I can see why you're so fond of it. _Really_ fond of it, aren't you? Having it reanimated instead of just finding a new body . . .oy. That's a lotta work." She looked thoughtful. "But, I think it needs some tweaking." With a swift motion, she cut a large section of red hair off, close to the scalp. She gripped the hair in her fist, facing Abaddon, who looked surprised.

"That's your big plan? Giving me a makeover?" Abaddon spat, but she was obviously riled by the fact that she was unsure of what was happening.

"Consider it a make under," Meg corrected, quickly slashing the rest of the hair off, leaving choppy, uneven sections, some matted with blood where the blade had come in contact with skin.

"You know what else if nice about this body?" Meg asked, examining. "Those beautiful, perfect teeth. Wouldn't it be a shame if something happened? Maybe a chip?" she slammed the handle of the blade against the demons mouth, and while one front tooth chipped and broke, another went flying in a pool of blood.

"Now they're uneven," Meg said, and she picked up a pair of pliers. "Let's fix that."

Several bloody teeth and lots of facial bruising later, Meg laid the pliers aside. She examined Abaddon, frowning. "Something is missing. Your meatsuit, it's missing something."

Gently, she poured the holy water and salt mixture into a long tube containing black ink. Meg pulled a cloth off the table to reveal a tattoo gun, now being fed a mixture of salt, blessed water, and ink.

"What happens if a demon gets a devils trap tattooed on their body, Crowley?" Meg asked innocently.

"I would assue they would be unable to ever leave their meatsuit," Crowley said, examining his nails.

"Well let's find out," Meg said, pressing the tattooing gun right over Abaddon's chest.

"Why are you doing this?" Abaddon demanded. "You can torture all you want but in the end, you can't kill me and you're saddled with a vengeful demoness. Do you really wanna go there?"

"Well I suppose if we're going to be saddled with you, you might as well drop a few hints," Meg suggested.

When Abaddon didn't reply, Meg began on the tattoo.

Abaddon hissed as her skin smoked from the holy water and salt. As the devil's trap was completed, she felt weakened and her power draining from her body slowly.

She yelped in pain as other anti-possession and anti-demon symbols were tattooed across her body. Breathing heavily, she watched as Meg tossed the gun aside, cracking her knuckles.

"Now that you're all beautified, we'll leave you to your thoughts for a while," she said, wiping her bloody hands on a rag and throwing it on the floor. "We'll check on you in a few days. Holler if you feel like chatting."

Abaddon panted in pain as Crowley and Meg looked her up before leaving.

Abaddon sat in her own silence and madness for three whole days. Three long, painful days as her wounds ached without healing. Blood had caked itself over her, and she was lightheaded and nauseous.

Of course, she didn't let that show when Meg and Crowley came back a few days later.

"You look great," Meg smiled sweetly. "I brought you a present." She held up that blade,_ that damned blade_, and examined it. "So this is the infamous First Blade," Meg remarked. "It don't seem so special to me, but it must hurt you a lot, huh? Damn near killed you. But then, you're a good actress, aren't you?"

"New York," Abaddon said.

Crowley frowned. "Come again?"

"New York," Abaddon said again, grinning. "Moriarty and the Master. That's where they are. What do I care if you find them? They made their deals; they can't die. So it doesn't matter what you do."

"Unless you were to die, that is."

"Do I look like I'm going anywhere?" Abaddon grinned wider. "That blade hurts like a bitch. But it doesn't have enough juice to kill me."

"No, but he does," Meg smirked, jerking her head towards the door.

Abaddon's eyes widened as the archangel entered the room, his hands shoved easily in his pockets and a small smirk on his face.

"Hiya, Queen Bitch," Gabriel said. "They call me Gabriel."

"You don't know that he can kill me," Abaddon said quickly. "You don't know anything that can for sure."

"You wanna take the chance?" Meg asked.

Abaddon hesitated. "You'll try to kill me anyway."

"You're absolutely right," Crowley agreed enthusiastically. "But after destroying that pretty face of yours and locking you inside that sad little broken body, what have you got to live for?" He leaned forward, his face close to hers. "No power, no assets This is your last chance to raise a little hell. If you go down, why not take them with you?" He lowered his voice. "Come on, love. Go out swinging. Go out _like a Queen_."

Abaddon evaluated the situation, and realized he was right; there was no escaping, even if she escaped them, she was still destroyed from the inside out. And why should anyone else gain anything from _her_ loss?

So she told them everything.

In the end, she looked up at Gabriel, disgustingly ready to leave her wasted body and potential. As he laid his hand on her head, Abaddon smirked.

"Long live the Queen," she said bitterly, before the room was engulfed in a bright light.

* * *

><p>Meg stepped into the shower, washing the blood and death from her skin in water hot enough to boil a lobster. She stood there for a long time, until the water grew cold and her skin grew numb. She wrapped a towel around her and headed for her room, where she sat on her bed doing nothing but staring forward.<p>

She didn't even acknowledge Castiel as he entered the room and sat beside her, staring at her.

"It's bothering me, Clarence," Meg said after nearly a half an hour.

"What is bothering you, Meg?"

"Abaddon. I should have been itching to rip her skin off and tear it to shreds. But to be honest . . ." she shook her head. "I wasn't hardly bothered. I almost didn't want too. Not because I felt sorry for her, she was a bitch and deserved a slower death, but because I just didn't feel the passion I used to."

"And that isn't a good thing for you."

"I'm a demon, Cas. I'm not supposed to give a crap about what others think of me, and I'm supposed to enjoy the little things like pointless deaths and torture. But I just don't feel the fire anymore, so I do care what people think, and I don't care about death or torture. All I really want is to have you think of me as something more than another abomination. Hell, I almost felt guilt the other day when Ellen and Jo approached me about the redemption thing."

"I think of you as so much more than an abomination," Castiel said seriously, gazing into her eyes with that intensity he carried with him. "I think of you as my friend, and my ally, and . . ." he looked conflicted, like his emotions were confusing him again. "And as I said, I love you. You are very valuable. Not only as a member of this team or an ally, but to me in general." He paused, frowning. "I don't understand why it is called falling in love. Your love didn't cause me to fall or even stumble. You caused me to rise and take responsibility for my atrocious actions – and you stayed with me the entire time. When the boys told me you were dead, I felt this . . . _rare_ . . . raw emotion, it's the worst I've yet to encounter. I believe it is described as desperation."

"Oh, _Clarence_," Meg breathed, in a state of shock that shook her to the core. She felt an odd occurrence in her eyes, and realized that it was tears, hot and salty. They burned her eyes and her skin as they dripped down her cheeks.

"These," Castiel said, referring to the tears he wiped away with his thumb. "These have been making an almost daily appearance in my life. You never get used to them. But then again, I don't think we're supposed to."

Meg tried to keep the tears in as she lay on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and wondering if her heart beat to keep her body alive or if it beat for him.


	30. Chapter 30

Crowley watched smugly from a window as they burned Abaddon's corpse that evening. He took another long drink of scotch. Finally he had gotten what he wanted. His original plan had been to manipulate the Winchesters into killing Abaddon and Moriarty – who would be easy to kill now, once they found him – and then return to his throne. But not alone, of course – he was determined to figure out how that time machine worked, and he would do anything and go through anyone to get that information. If that included capturing, torturing, or quite possibly killing any of the three time travelers in the Bunker, that was fine with him. He'd pick them off one by one, take the machine for himself, and set on his merry way.

But now he had bloody Lucifer to worry about.

_Bollocks_.

He finished his scotch, laying the glass on the table and rubbing the bridge of his nose in annoyance. Every piece of his plan was falling apart. Clara would have been easiest to capture and persuade into giving some information, but the Moose just _had_ to go and get emotionally attached to her, and Crowley really wasn't in the mood for a vengeful Sam Winchester chasing him for the rest of his days. And, though Crowley would never admit it, he was actually a bit fond of the girl. That wouldn't stop him from harvesting her soul in a few years and tossing it on the rack, but still. She was likable.

Sighing, the demon made his way downstairs, where the others were gathering. Meg, who had gotten to Abaddon and got her to talk in the first place, was standing with Castiel, looking grim. As the others milled around, Meg sighed and turned to them.

"Good news," she said. "Abaddon spilled her guts – literally and figuratively. Bad news, what she told us ain't too pretty."

"The Master and Moriarty are in New York City," Castiel continued. "But not present day New York City."

"What the hell does that mean?" frowned Dean.

"They're with Metatron," Meg said. "And he's an angel. Since he's an angel, he can make it so the three of them are constantly spinning through different years, but always in the same place: the city."

"Like what I did to throw Naomi off when I had the tablet," Cas confirmed.

"So how do we catch them?" Sam frowned.

"We'll have to split up and see who can get a grip on 'em," Meg said.

"Split up," Dean frowned. "You mean, split up through time?"

"That's correct," Castiel nodded. "Be forewarned – this may take days, or weeks. The Doctor has agreed to drop four groups of us off in the different years, and in case anything goes wrong, we'll each have a method of time-travel to reach each other –the Doctor and his group will have the Tardis, Dean's group will have Captain Harkness's vortex manipulator, Jo's group will have River's vortex manipulator, and my group will have me."

"How many different years are they rotating through?" River asked.

"Four," Meg said. "Nineteen forty-one, nineteen seventy-four, two thousand six, and two thousand forty."

"The Doctor, Professor Song, Clara, and Sam can take forty-one," Cas said. "Holmes, Watson, Dean, and Ellen can take seventy four. Jo, Ash, and Charlie and Hannah can take two thousand six and Meg, Bobby, Crowley and myself will go forward into two thousand forty. Those who aren't going should guard the bunker carefully." Cas paused. "Everyone prepare, and we'll meet back here in one hour."

When they had landed in New York, everyone gathered around the control room in the TARDIS. The first to leave were Castiel, Meg, Bobby, and Crowley, who stepped out of the box and watched it disappear.

They looked around the city, shocked and sickened to see the city in ruins.

"This is exactly how Dean described the future would look if the Croatoan virus broke out," Castiel said in surprise.

The streets were abandoned, and everything seemed to be covered in a thick layer of grime. Blood stains were splattered against buildings, corpses were in the streets, and smoke rose from various areas of the city.

"Where are we, exactly?" Meg frowned.

Bobby leaned in front of a plaque a few feet away. "Central Park. We're in Manhattan."

"How are we supposed to find anyone in this mess?" Crowley grumbled, looking disdainfully around the city.

"Cas," Meg said quietly, looking at something in the distance. Castiel turned, and frowned.

Four people stood staring at them, their eyes red and bloodshot. Their filthy clothes were matted with blood and mud, and bloodstains were crusted around their mouths.

"They're like zombies," Crowley observed. "Just staring."

"Zombies don't run," Meg said quickly as the infected started running towards them. She grabbed Castiel's hand, yanking him away, and they ran for it, except for Crowley who simply disappeared.

They ran down the streets and alleys, trying to throw the infected citizens off their trail, but it seemed only to attract more. Trapped against a wall, Bobby started firing at them with his gun, but more and more kept coming.

They were shocked when the sound of rapid gunfire filled the air, and the infected started dropping like flies as throats were slit and bullets were sprayed. A young woman, with brown hair and eyes and wearing enough gear to insure her safety, seemed to be the leader. As she stabbed the last one, she ordered the men with her to go check down the other alleys.

"What in the name of Satan is this supposed to be?" she asked, shocked as she looked at Cas, Meg, and Bobby. Bobby frowned, realizing there was something eerily familiar about her.

"You shape shifters?" she demanded, loading her gun. "We don't take kindly to your kind around here."

"Of course we're not shapeshifters," Castiel said, frowning. "My name is Castiel, I'm an angel."

"Shove a sock in it, freak," the woman replied, cocking her gun. "You aren't an angel, least of all Castiel. What, and I suppose you want me to believe that's the real Meg, too?"

"Real – well what do you think?" Meg demanded, her eyes flashing black.

The woman took a step back, as though in shock. "No," she said, shaking her head. "No, that's impossible . . ."

"Bloody croats, made me tear my suit!" Crowley reappeared in front of them, brushing dust off of him and examining a large rip in the sleeve.

"Thanks for all your help," Bobby said sarcastically.

"Survival of the fittest, mate."

The woman had dropped her gun, her hands covering her mouth in shock as she stared at Crowley. Tears were forming in her eyes.

Crowley looked at her, frowning.

She lowered her hands. "Fergus?" she whispered, her voice full of pain. "Is it you?"

Crowley's frown deepened – not a lot of people knew _that_ name, that was for sure. "Er, yes?"

His eyes widened with shock as the woman flung herself onto him, wrapping her arms around him and furiously pressing her lips against his, kissing him in a way he, the King of Hell, _the_ crossroads demon, had never been kissed in before – a kiss packed with raw emotion, with _love_.

Shocked, he at first went rigid, but then shrugged and let it happen.

She pulled away slightly, tears running down her face as she lifted her hands to caress his. She frowned when he didn't seem to recognize her. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"After that? How could I be?" Crowley chuckled. "Sorry, but have we met?"

She stepped away, running her hands through her hair in a way that was _definitely_ familiar somehow.

"Who are you?" she demanded, grabbing her gun again, searching each of their faces fearfully. "Why don't you recognize me?" She looked at Crowley again, obviously hurt, and shook her head. "How do _you_ not recognize me?"

"Why should I?" Crowley snorted.

Self-consciously, the woman's hand went to her throat, where a golden necklace hung, supporting two golden rings. Upon further inspection, Crowley realized they were matching wedding bands, and he frowned, confused.

Then it hit him.

He looked shocked. "No," he said, looking her up and down. "I mean, you're quite great looking – _really_ great looking actually – but I don't . . . I'm not the matrimony type, love."

"You're not him," the woman said stiffly, glaring at him. "You're not Crowley. Not _my_ Crowley. My Ferugs."

"I don't even know who you bloody are!" Crowley told her, obviously shaken up.

"Commander Winchester!" a man in body armor jogged up to the woman, stopping and saluting her.

"At ease," she said, and the man relaxed.

"Commander, the area has been cleared and the croats were driven into the next borough."

She cursed. "Dammit, you know Dean's going to have my ass for that!"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry, ma'am."

"Just go round up the rest of the troops and get back to the base," she said. "I'll follow."

The man saluted again before jogging off.

"Winchester," Bobby said faintly, as Crowley was too shocked to come to terms with it himself.

The woman turned to look at him, coldly, and Bobby realized why she was so familiar – her eyes and hair were the _exact_ color of Sam's.

"Commander Amelia Bobbi Winchester," she said coldly. "We should talk."


	31. Chapter 31

"How is it even _possible_ for 2006 New York to look so different from 2014 New York?" Charlie asked, shaking her head.

"Look at all of the skinny jeans and black nail polish," Jo grinned as a group of teenage girls passed them, gushing about the hottest new TV show, _Dexter_.

"Hey, 2006 was a good year for me," Ash said, running a hand over his hair. "Besides for the dying thing."

"It was the year we met Sam and Dean," Jo remarked.

"Kinda ties in with the whole _dead_ thing, Jo."

"What are we looking for, exactly?" Charlie said, though it was obviously Hannah who was speaking by the crispness of her voice.

"Yeah, are we just supposed to walk around until we find something?" Ash snorted.

As if on cue, there was screaming and cars screeching as a huge commotion went on a few blocks away. The three – or four, technically – looked at each other before taking off running towards to commotion.

Whatever was happening was happening in Central Park; though as the group arrived, they had a hard time shoving past the screaming crowd to see what was going on. Jo eventually got impatient and just shoved her way through, pushing and leading Charlie and Ash behind her.

In the middle of the park, a horribly deformed, hissing creature stood, baring its sharp teeth and making awful noises. It was chasing two people, a young blonde woman and a lanky fellow with glasses. They were yelling at each other, and were obviously British.

"Get in a tree, they can't climb!" the man called as he scrambled onto a branch, pulling himself farther up into a tree.

"Can't climb? Really?" The woman exclaimed, running from the creature. She sharply turned left, heading for a tree, where she started to scramble up.

When the creature dug its sharp talons into the tree and started pulling itself up, the woman in the tree squeaked. "You said they can't climb!"

"It was a theory!"

"A theory! Maybe you should find a theory on how to get it off my trail!" she dropped from the tree, taking off running again.

"I don't know, throw it a bone or something!"

"A bone – I don't carry bones with me, you _bonehead_!"

"Well you've got all those pockets on your trousers, you've got the room!"

"_Get down here and help me!"_

"Right!" The man dropped from the tree, and danced in front of the creature, which was now back on the ground, hissing and spitting. "Lookey here, look at me! Here boy, come on then!" He took off running, now being pursued by the creature.

Jo was running towards the blonde woman, who was catching her breath.

"What's going on?" Jo demanded.

"We're trying to tire it out," the woman explained, holding her sides. "So it'll be easier to help it. Look, you lot should get out of here, it's not safe."

"Move aside," Ash said, cocking his sawed off and aiming.

The man who was being chased stopped. "No guns, no shooting! Don't hurt it!" as he was stopped, the creature jumped on him, tackling him to the ground.

Calmly, Charlie approached as the creature snapped its jaws and the man held it at bay. She gently touched two fingers to the creature's head, and its eyes rolled back in its head before going limp.

The blonde woman helped the man get the creature off of him. "What did you do?" she asked Charlie.

"I made him rest," Charlie said. "That's what you wanted, correct?"

"Yeah, actually," the man frowned, taking his glassed off and slipping them in his pocket. "Weavils aren't naturally predators, they get in the sewers and then they make their way up here and get scared . . ."

"Uh-huh," Jo said, looking down at the creature with disdain.

"Sorry, but, how did you do that?" the blonde woman was still frowning at Charlie.

Charlie gave a lopsided grin. "Freaky angel powers."

"Angel," the woman said, not looking as shocked as she should. "You're an angel." She looked at her friend. "There are angels?"

"Of course there are angels. If you look hard enough, you can find all types of species," he told her, shaking Charlie's hand. "Hullo, I'm the Doctor. And this is my companion, Rose."

* * *

><p>"What the hell is so special about seventy-four?" Dean complained, folding a newspaper and sitting it back in the stand.<p>

"Absolutely nothing, which is exactly what Moriarty would want," Sherlock replied, drinking his coffee. "Inconspicuous. He could very well be hiding anywhere."

"Awesome," Dean muttered, running a hand through his hair. "So put yourself in his head. Where would you go?"

"Oh, I know exactly where he is," Sherlock replied, flipping through the newspaper Dean had just laid down.

"What?" Dean exclaimed. "Well come on, then! Where is he?"

"Sitting directly across the street from us."

Ellen, Dean, and John turned and saw that Jim Moriarty was, indeed, sitting at the café across the street, drinking coffee and talking with a man who sat like he was bored.

"Well what are we waiting for?" Dean grumbled, feeling for his gun at the small of his back. "C'mon."

"I wouldn't," Sherlock continued, not looking up from the paper. "That man he's sitting with is a demon."

"How can you tell?" John frowned.

"His host body's suit, for one thing, any man who can afford a suit like that would sit properly and look professional, that man is sitting too casually. There's sulfur on his left sleeve and in his hair, leading me to believe he arrived in a hurry, without time to check himself in a mirror."

"Nice," Ellen said, and John shook his head.

"But it's four of us and two of them," John said. "We could easily take them."

"In the middle of a crowded street in New York, packed with innocent bystanders and children," Sherlock sighed, closing the paper. "They want us to come over there, but they want it on their terms. That means no shooting, stabbing, or attacking or I imagine his demon friend there will reach directly behind him, where he has perfect access to that woman's throat, which he will then proceed to rip out."

"He's right," Ellen sighed.

"You two stay right here," Dean told Ellen and John. "In case something goes wrong. We'll be right back."

Dean and Sherlock quickly crossed the street, slowly walking to the table, where the demon and Moriarty looked up expectantly.

"About time," Moriarty yawned, looking at his watch. "We thought you'd stand there contemplating your next move for _hours_. And you go with just crossing the street?"

"We're not stupid," Dean retorted. "And we're gonna give you one chance to stand up and come quietly, or else things are going to get ugly."

Moriarty jutted out his lip. "But I'm just getting acquainted with my new friend," he whined softly, gesturing to the demon.

Dean glared at the demon, feeling very uneasy suddenly. Something was familiar about that evil little smirk, and for some reason the particular sulfur smell triggered flashing memories of Sam's nursery, chasing a phantom in the dark . . .

Dean felt a sick, gut wrenching feeling and he swallowed when he realized who was in front of him.

The demon continued to smirk, and his eyes flickered to yellow.

"Hiya, Dean," he said. "I've heard a lot about you."


	32. Chapter 32

Sam panted as he ducked around a corner, leaning against the wall and catching his breath.

"We can't outrun them, they're too fast," Clara breathed from where she leaned next to him.

"But not if we watch them," Sam replied quietly.

"The place is crawling with them, how can we watch all of them? Especially since River and the Doctor got separated."

There was a shuffling noise, and Sam peeked around the corner.

The statue had moved.

Again.

Man, Sam hated angels.

"Where is it safe?" He asked.

"Sam, it is 1941, and we're in the middle of a slummy New York neighborhood, and it's midnight. Nowhere is safe."

Sam looked around the corner; two more statues had appeared.

"How do you kill them?" he asked.

"You don't. You keep your eyes open, and you run." She took his hand, taking a deep breath. "Ready?"

Sam gave a nod, and they slowly crept out of the alley, keeping their eyes on the statues. Clara slowly turned around to watch his back, and she stopped.

"Sam, there's more," she said, keeping her eyes open. "Three on this side."

"Four on this one," he told her, and they took a deep breath at the same time.

They were both shocked when there was a loud cracking noise, and the head of one of the statues went flying, slamming into the wall and chipping into pieces. Clara flinched in surprise when it happened again, this time the head rolling into the alley and slamming against the dumpster.

With two down, Sam looked around frantically for something, anything, to use as a weapon. He grabbed a long metal pipe, and when he stood, another one of the statues was right upon him. Using all his strength, he swung the pipe against the statues head, cracking it and send chunks of stone flying. He turned, swinging the pipe and gathering enough momentum to slam a smaller ones head clear off.

As the last were destroyed, Sam took several deep breaths, looking at Clara. "Are you okay?"

"Are you alright?" she asked at the same time, and they grinned a bit at each other.

"Nice arm, mate." A lanky, skinny man, holding a heavy crowbar and wearing a long coat, commented at Sam.

"Thanks," Sam nodded. "You too."

"You two almost got it," said a woman as she came out of the alley. She had a hat and matching coat on as well, and a Weeping Angels head in her hands. She tossed it, and the man caught it, looking at its face.

"Thank you," Clara said gratefully. "That wouldn't have ended well if you hadn't come along."

"Eh, think nothing of it," the woman said kindly. "It's what we do. I'm Amy, by the way. This goof here is my husband Rory."

"Hi," Rory waved, tossing the head on the ground.

"Sam," the Winchester gave a nod. "This is Clara."

Amy was examining them. "You're not from here," she observed. "Modern clothing, I'd say 2014. Getting sent back in time is rough, huh?"

"Guess we're not the only ones not from here," Sam acknowledged.

Amy grinning knowingly. "Something like that."

"Listen, we got separated from our friends a few blocks from here – I think around Central Park," Clara said.

"Follow us, then," Rory nodded.

They followed Amy and Rory for a few block, Sam's coat draped over Clara so that it look like she was wearing an oversized dress. Amy and Rory would occasionally look around to make sure they weren't being followed, as though they were used to things jumping out at them.

Finally, they got to the park, the only guiding light the flickering street lights.

"This is like a Weeping Angels breeding ground," Amy said. "Luckily we've scared enough of them off for the night. Where did you say you lost your friends?"

"There you are!" River came into Clara's line of sight, and smiled in relief. River smiled broadly back, before noticing Amy and Rory and frowning.

"Here we go," she muttered with a sigh, and Clara looked at her in confusion.

"Melody Pond, _where_ have you been?" Amy exclaimed, grabbing River by the shoulders and glaring at her.

"We've been worried sick!" Rory added.

"I told you I was popping into the future for a while and that I'd be back," River said exasperatedly.

"River, that was weeks ago!" Rory exclaimed.

"Months for me, actually," River said. She looked into Amy's eyes. "I'm fine, see?"

"You are in so much trouble."

"Sam, Clara," River said, trying not to look amused. "I see you've met my parents."

"You – your parents?" Clara squeaked. "But you're . . . they're . . ."

"It's complicated," Rory told Sam, who nodded. He didn't need any explanation.

"River!" the Doctor's voice could be heard in the distance. "River?" He jogged onto path, slowing to a stop. His eyes widened at the scene in front of him, and he looked like he was about to cry.

Amy had choked on a gasp, her hands covering her mouth. "Raggedy man?"

* * *

><p>"Call Dean, tell him about the Croats in his borough."<p>

"Yes, ma'am."

"And send a message to Jo and Deacon, they need to remember to send those reports. I want them on my desk ten minutes ago."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You're dismissed."

The solider saluted before leaving.

Castiel, Meg, Bobby, Crowley, and Amelia stood in a lobby of a very expensive looking building as Amelia finished up with giving her orders. They rode the elevator to the penthouse in silence, and Crowley was surprised to see many of his possessions in the apartment. As Amelia went to change, he examined photos that were set across the mantle.

Amelia and a woman a few years younger than her, who looked suspiciously like Dean, smiled from a frame, drinks in their hands and wearing camo and combat boots as though on a mission. To the left of that photo was an old, tattered photo of Sam and Dean. Then another photo of Amelia, Dean, and the woman Crowley could only assume was Dean's daughter. Finally, on the end, Crowley frowned at the last photo. It was a photo of himself, with his arms wrapped around Amelia, who was dressed in a simple white dress. She had turned her head to kiss him, and the photographer had caught the moment.

Amelia cleared her throat as she reentered the room, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt.

"Well," she said, looking awkward. "Uh, sit down I guess. I'll grab some drinks."

As the others sat awkwardly on the plush couch, they stared at Crowley.

"What?" the demon hissed.

"You _know_ what," Meg said.

Amelia reentered, setting four beers down on the table before opening a cabinet and grabbing a few glasses and some scotch. Crowley was surprised to see his favorite drink of choice – it was rather hard to get, and she seemed to know for a fact what he liked.

Amelia sat down across from them in a chair, biting her lip and taking small sips of her beer.

"So," Meg finally said. "This is super awkward."

Amelia rolled the bottle in her hands. "I've heard of time travel, but we don't use it," she remarked. "Too risky."

"Who exactly are you?" Castiel asked, cocking his head.

Amelia sighed, leaning forward and getting comfortable. "I'm Amelia Winchester. You can call me Amy or . . ." she swallowed, refusing to look at Crowley. "Or Melia. Sam Winchester was my father."

"Was," Meg acknowledged.

Amelia nodded, her eyes distant.

"What happened?" Castiel asked gently.

Amelia took a deep breath. "Demon. I was just a kid." She ran her hand through her hair again, and looked at Bobby. "The same one that killed you four years ago." She took a deep breath. "Dean didn't do well after that. He was hellbent on revenge for a while. But Jo turned him around."

"Jo Harvelle?" Castiel asked.

Amelia shook her head. "No, Jo Harvelle died years ago – Croatoan outbreak in the camp, not long after Sam died. Lucia Jo-Ellen is Dean and Jo's daughter." Amelia leaned back now. "Croatoan broke out a few years after I was born. Spread like wildfire, but some hunters took New York and we're rebuilding. Two commanders to a borough. Jo and her husband, Deacon, they're in charge of Staten Island. It's the Camp, where most of the civilians live. Dean and Charlie are set up in the Bronx, which has pretty much destroyed so they're rebuilding from the bottom up to be another camp. We're hoping to have it done in the next two years. Castiel and Meg - erm, _our_ Castiel and Meg - they run Queens, which is still pretty overrun with Croats. Garth and Bobby ran Brooklyn, where a lab is set up dedicated to finding a cure for Croatoan. But after Bobby - you- um, Bobby died, Garth as never been able to pic a new partner." She swallowed. "And I run Manhattan, which is base of operations, alone."

"Where's _your_ partner in crime?" Meg asked.

Amelia's eyes lingered on Crowley for a moment before she took a long drink of beer. "He died."

Crowley narrowed his eyes. "How?"

"Doesn't matter," Amelia snapped.

"Does to me, love, seeing as it's going to be me one day."

"No, not you. Not all of you." Amelia glared at him. "You're not the man I married. Not yet."

"So how did I get to be him?" Crowley demanded, and the others looked curious as well.

Amelia sighed, sitting her beer on the table. "Crowley went missing years ago, before I was even born. He was presumed dead, killed when Metatron took over – don't look so surprised, you guys, how do you think things got like this? Anyway, when I was nineteen I was on a mission with Jo-Ellen and we ran onto an old torture house. And we found the one of only King of Hell inside, tortured into almost oblivion every day by being dosed with just enough human blood to make him emotional, but not enough to let him die." She brushed some hair out of her eyes. "I felt bad for the poor bastard so I helped patch him up, but he never did kick the human blood – which was a good thing, because if he'd gone back to the way he originally was, we'd have another problem. So I ended up with a snarky, moody, spoiled, mean little demon of a man who was also very emotional and damaged and needed to be fixed. So I did the dumbest thing possible and fell in love with him." Her eyes were a bit wet, and she blinked rapidly. "We, uh. We got married three years later. Altogether we were together seven years – well, it would have been seven next month."

"So what happened to me – to him?" Crowley corrected himself, raising his eyebrows.

Amelia looked cold and harsh. "A few months ago my past came back to bite me. He gave his life to protect me."

"Care to elaborate?" asked Crowley.

"No," Amelia said harshly.

A siren, eerily similar to the air raid warnings back in the days of World War II, suddenly blasted throughout the city. Amelia cursed and rushed to the window, looking down. She immediately had a Walkman in her hand and was speaking into it.

"How many?"

"It – it's hard to tell, ma'am, we're bein' flooded with 'em!" a panicked voice replied. "A few hundred, maybe – ack!"

"Rogers? Rogers? Damn it!" Amelia yelled, slamming the Walkman down. She pulled a book from its shelf, and the shelf opened to reveal an arsenal of weapons.

"What's going on?" Castiel demanded.

Amy was pulling on a Kevlar vest, then pulling an old, plaid, and very familiar looking flannel top over it and buttoning it up. "Metatron just dumped more Croats right in my city!" she snarled.

"Metatron – Metatron is here?" Crowley asked, looking shocked.

"Yeah, unfortunately," Amelia said, loading a machine gun. "How's your aim?" she asked the others, jerking her head at the weapons.

As the others gathered their weapons and followed Amelia, who was on her way up a set of stairs concealed by another bookshelf. She pushed open a heavy iron door and revealed the rooftop, aglow with floodlights and sirens, all going off.

"The more noise we make the more Croats we attract!" Amelia yelled over the sirens.

"Why would you want to attract them?" Meg yelled back.

Amelia leaned on the wall, aiming her gun at the zombie-like humans below them. "Easier to pick off when they're all grouped together!" Amy called back, before opening fire.

"What are you, insane?" Bobby yelled. "There are civilians down there, your soldiers!"

"If they didn't make it inside they're done for anyway!" Amy called back, picking off Croats and soldiers alike. "Better to kill them now then let them turn into the things they hate!"

Meg shrugged, having to agree with her, and began shooting a well, quickly followed by Bobby and Cas.

There was the sound of beating propellers, and Crowley turned around to see a helicopter.

"Commander Winchester," a voice from the chopper boomed. "Surrender yourself and your base now or we will be forced to take extreme actions."

"What, this ain't extreme enough for ya?" Amelia yelled back, spraying bullets towards the chopper. She rolled out of the way as it returned fire.

What she didn't see, however, was the silent assassin scale the building, practically invisible until he was only feet behind Amelia, angel blade raised. The sharpened blade slid easily through the Kevlar and pierced straight through the girl. She gasped, blood trickling from her mouth as she fell forward against the ground. She reached behind her, grabbing the blade and yanking it out before throwing it, catching the hired assassin and hitting him with such force, Crowley couldn't tell if he was killed by the blade before he stumbled off of the building.

The helicopter began shooting at anything that moved on the roof, and Castiel quickly grabbed Amelia and pulled her back inside. There was more yelling and screaming on the roof, and an explosion as the helicopter blew up from an unknown source – Crowley guessed reinforcements had arrived. Cas laid Amelia on the couch where they had been sitting earlier, and Amelia looked dazed.

"Cas, can you . . .?" Bobby began, but Castiel shook his head grimly.

"I don't have enough grace left. I am sorry."

"Out of the way," Crowley told them, shoving Bobby aside.

"What in the hell are you doin'?" Bobby demanded.

"Suppose you didn't notice she wasn't drinking alcohol earlier," Crowley remarked as he rolled up his sleeve. "I swear, if I had a pound for every time I bled for a Wincheter . . ."

"You mean she's . . .?" Bobby frowned, looking shocked.

"Looks like it runs in the family," Crowley said, sliding a small knife across his wrist.

Amelia, who was dazed and losing consciousness, looked at Crowley in shock. "Fergus –" she said hoarsely.

"Hush, darling," Crowley said, laying his wrist on her lips, and Amelia sucked gently, raising her hands to press Crowley's wrist against her mouth harder. She closed her eyes, feeling herself getting stronger as her wound very slowly healed. Eventually, she fainted, and Crowley pulled his arm away before ripping her shirt off.

"Didn't heal her all the way, you know," the demon grunted. "You could be looking for a first aid kit." He easily ripped through the Kevlar as well, and her t-shirt, leaving nothing but a sports bra that was practically ruined by the gaping hole in her chest.

Castiel returned from the kitchen with a first aid kit a few moments later.

"Who's going to stitch her up?" Meg asked.

"Suppose I should, seeing as she's _my_ wife. Wouldn't be right for you to see her indecent," Crowley said wryly, eager to get the undergarment off and see exactly what he committed matrimony for.

"That's practically my granddaughter, you son of a bitch," Bobby said harshly, shoving Crowley. "And don't think I won't be kicking your ass later!"

"Would you stop it," Meg said, yanking the first aid kit from their hands. "Get outta here, give me some room to work!" she snapped as she opened the kit.

The others did as they were told, heading for the kitchen.

They certainly hadn't been expecting to find Dean Winchester waiting for them.


	33. Chapter 33

"So you're telling me that in the future, the Master is alive and trying to take over the world with a mastermind, a demon, Satan himself, and an angel?"

"Actually, it's just a mastermind, Satan, and an angel," Jo replied. "We killed the demon."

Jo, Charlie, Ash, Rose, and the Doctor – the different doctor, who must have been a former regeneration as Charlie explained (she also mentioned how they couldn't be too specific about the details because it could change time itself) – sat in the park, discussing the problem at hand.

"I know it's not easy to believe," Jo said. "But this is important. We're tracking one of them – we don't know which – and we know they're here in New York."

"Who is the Master?" Rose frowned.

"He's another Time Lord," the Doctor frowned.

Rose's eyes widened. "Sorry, but Doctor, isn't that good? It means you're not the last! Others might have survived."

"The Master is not like me, Rose," the Doctor said quietly, and Rose didn't press him.

"We need help," Jo said. "Look, I can't say a lot, but in the future, you and me – you and us – we're friends. So please help us."

The Doctor was quiet, assessing the situation. If things were so bad in the future that he had to resort to sending people back in time, alone, well . . .

"We'll help you," the Doctor said, standing.

Jo felt a rush of relief. "Thank you. Where should we start?"

"The Master enjoys living lavishly, somewhere where he can see everything that happens," the Doctor said. "So he'll be somewhere like a mansion, or an estate . . ."

"A penthouse?" Rose suggested, and the Doctor looked at her in an endearing manner.

"Oh, you're brilliant!" he beamed.

As they headed for a library where Ash could use a computer, Jo frowned. The Doctor and his friend, Rose, were obviously attracted to each other and shared a bond. Jo wondered exactly what happened to her, as she had no place in their future – did she leave him? Or did something more sinister happen? She found herself worrying about the fate of the girl she hardly knew, and realized she was turning into her mother.

Ash finally found a library and was able to hack into a database that gave him the names of the priciest penthouses in New York and who lived in them. He and the Doctor scrolled through the list for nearly an hour when the Doctor exclaimed, "There! Colonel Masters, it's one of his aliases."

"He's right here in Manhattan, too," Ash said, standing. "We can sneak right up on him."

"We can take it from here," Jo told the time travelers. "Thank you for your help in locating him."

"Well we're coming with you of course!" the Doctor exclaimed.

Jo shook her head. "You can't, this isn't part of your timeline."

The Doctor looked frustrated, but knew she was right. As Jo, Ash, and Charlie walked away, he called out, "How long until we meet again?"

Charlie smirked and looked at the Doctor, using the phrase River used so often.

"Spoilers."

The three found the penthouse on their own and entered the lobby, heading for the desk.

"Hi, I'm here to see Colonel Masters," Jo said.

"Names or titles?" the lobbyist asked, looking bored.

"Titles, huh?" Jo looked at the other two. "How about two dead hunters, a super-hacker, and an angel of the lord?"

The lobbyist raised his eyebrows, and was startled when the phone rand. He answered it.

"Colonel, sir. Yes. Yes, they – a-are you sure? Yes, yes, of course." He hung up and looked suspiciously at the three. "Go on up. He's expecting you."

Jo knew that wasn't good as they rode the elevator in silence, watching the floor numbers climb. If he knew they were there on his own, he probably knew who they were and what they wanted. They'd really have to watch their step around him.

The elevator dinged, and they stepped out into a large suite. Sitting in a chair, holding a glass of wine, was the Master. A young, pretty maid was serving him a plate of shrimp, and she looked surprised to see the newcomers.

"Oh good, you're here," the Master remarked as the elevator doors shut behind the team. "I've been waiting to thank you."

"Thank us?" Charlie frowned. "For what?"

The Master smiled and pulled a rope that dangled beside him. A curtain behind him lifted, revealing a large, blue box.

"For distracting _this_ Doctor while I stole his ship."

Jo's eye's widened. "But – why would you need a machine?" She blurted out. "Don't you have your own?"

"Unfortunately, no," the Master acknowledged. "So thank you for securing it for me. But that was really all I needed from you," he said, standing, and the other realized he had a gun in his hand. "So we'll be saying goodbye then."

He stopped when he heard the clink of metal and felt a cold barrel of a gun pressed to his temple. "Drop the gun," the maid instructed.

The Master, looking utterly and totally disgusted, did so – he must have known that his deal with Abaddon was over when she was killed, Jo realized.

"How did you get one of your own into my service?" the Master asked the others, looking a bit impressed but still rather angry.

"She's not with us," Charlie said, confused.

"Lady, who are you?" Jo asked.

The maid gave a short nod, still holding the gun in her hand, not shaking or even looking nervous. "Jenny Flint, miss. And I'm here to apprehend the Master."

* * *

><p>Dean went crashing through a window, feeling glass bite into his skin and hearing the screams of civilians as they leaped from their chairs and fled the café. Dean landed against the bar, cracking the plastic counter as he slumped against it.<p>

Hands gripped the front of his shirt, and he was lifted and slammed against the wall hard enough to make the drywall give a little.

"So, Dean," Azazel said, his yellow eyes glowing in the dull light of the diner. "We have a lot to talk about. Of course we haven't officially met . . ." with this he threw Dean to the floor, holding him down. "But from what I understand, you're going to cause me more than enough problems. After all, imagine my surprise when some human from the future comes along and tells me someone lets dear old Lucifer out . . ." His grip tightened on Dean's throat, and Dean coughed "And then he's shoved right back into the cage!"

He slammed his fist across Dean's face, and Dean resisted the urge to groan as he felt his mouth fill with blood.

"And that someone – an insignificant, pathetic insect– pulls the trigger on the gun that kills me," Azazel continued. "Imagine my _joy_ when I realize that the same guy just so happens to be in the same time period as me – a time before he was born!" Azazel smirked. "And that's when I realized – well, if I kill you here, you cease to exist in the future. You'll never have existed. Your brother will take his role on without anything stopping him, and I'll never die. It's like Christmas came early!"

"Someone will always stop Sam," Dean sneered.

"Maybe," Azazel said carelessly. "But let's kill you just to find out, yeah?"

The sound of a gun hammer being pulled back clicked behind them, and then the words, "You get off that boy before I blow your head off myself."

Azazel looked amused, turning to face Ellen. "You," he said. "I don't know you."

"You burn down my home, you son of a bitch," Ellen said, stony-faced. "You destroy all I ever had."

"So we're good friends then," Azazel smirked, and then looked angry as a bullet tore through his chest.

"You really shouldn't have done that," he told her, standing. He was shocked, though, when there was a hissing noise of sharp metal. He looked down, realizing he had been impaled by a long, silver sword. Looking pained, he opened his mouth and smoked out.

Dean struggled to sit up, his vision returning to him as he rubbed his eyes. Groaning, he looked up to see who had just saved his ass.

And his eyes widened.

"You're green," was all he could say.

The lizard-like woman was removing her sword from the body, wiping it with cloth before sliding it back into its sheath. "Yes," she said crisply. "As you are red from blood. Or do you always look like that?"

"There's a talking lizard in front of me," Dean said to no one in particular.

"I prefer Vastra, mammal. Madam to you. Are you going to just sit there or will you stand?"

Dean stood slowly, as shocked as Ellen to see a green lizard lady in a sleek, black clothing and two swords strapped to her back. As John and Sherlock rushed inside, they too stopped, in shock.

"I . . . that . . . what . . .?" John began.

"You are beautiful," Sherlock acknowledged at the same time.

Everyone was surprised, including Madame Vastra. "That is kind, though I must say I find you all to look alike. Now, proper introductions are in order. I am Madame Vastra, and this bloody child's savior."

"I had it under control," Dean lied, rubbing his arm. "Dean Winchester, monster hunter."

"Ellen Harvelle, bar tender," the woman gave a nod.

"Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective," Sherlock said with a little bow.

"John Watson, confused," John frowned. "Who _are_ you?"

"I am an old friend of the Doctor's. We got wind of the situation here so we came to help."

"We?" Dean frowned.

"Oh, yes. My partners and I have split up in an attempt to find the Doctor."

"Partners?"

"Wife and butler, actually."

Dazed and exhausted, all John could say was, "Moriarty got away."

"Then we'll just have to track him down, won't we?" Vastra said as though it were obvious. "And lets do so quickly, if you please. I'm absolutely _famished_."


	34. Chapter 34

"Raggedy man, my raggedy man."

Amy clutched the Doctor as though she'd never let go, tears staining her face. She buried her face against his shoulder, and he held her close, a silent tear leaking from his eye as well.

"Amelia Pond. The girl who waited. Hello," he said, pulling away to look at her. "And Rory! Rory the Roman!" The men embraced, looking more than happy to see each other.

"What are you doing here?" Amy demanded, wiping the tears from her face.

"Saving the world, of course!"

Amy looked at him darkly. "You did find someone to travel with, didn't you? You didn't sulk?"

"Clara!" the Doctor called gleefully. "Come here, I want you to meet someone."

Clara looked hesitantly at Sam, who followed closely, unsure as to what was happening.

"We've actually already met," Clara laughed nervously, and Amy laughed and nodded.

"So Clara and Sam are the new Amy and Rory?" the redhead teased.

"Oh, no," Sam said, grinning. "That's just Clara."

"Sam is a monster hunter," Clara exclaimed, holding his arm.

"Mine is a Roman," Amy winked, and the women laughed, enjoying themselves.

"Look sharp, young man! I have given an order to you and you need perceive it or I shall be forced to take violent action! Which way did the time traveler go?"

Rory frowned, squinting into the distance. "Is that . . .?"

"Strax, you are yelling at a squirrel!" the Doctor called to the Sontaran.

"I have nearly convinced him to give me the whereabouts of the Doctor, I would thank you not to interrupt!" Strax called back, before returning to the squirrel. Then he frowned, turning, and said, "Ah, Doctor!"

He made their way to them, giving Sam a bit of a shock – he had seen a lot of things, but a Sontaran was definitely new.

"Rory, you look well," Strax acknowledged his fellow nurse. He turned to Clara. "Miss Clara, I presume you are precisely who you should be at this current time?"

"I'm me, Strax," she confirmed with a smile.

"Ah, excellent. Now, Doctor," he said, turning to the Time Lord. "I was sent to you by Madame Vastra to see if you needed grenades."

"You're confusing grenades with help again, Strax."

"Am I? My mistake. Yes, Madame Vastra sent me to see if you needed _help_."

"Now _this_ is a force to be reckoned with," a voice said from behind the group, and everyone turned around in shock. Sam's eyes widened and he pushed Clara behind him instinctively.

"What exactly do we have here?" Lucifer raised his eyebrows, looking amused. "Oh, how about this one, Sammy? Stop me if you've heard it: An alien, a few time travelers, a vessel, and a potato walk into a bar . . ."

"Sir, I suspect that this being may be mocking us with the intent of being insulting rather than mirthful," Strax informed the Doctor. He pulled a large, collapsible rocket launcher from his belt and allowed it to build itself on his shoulder. "Shall I destroy him and every fiber of his being, sir?"

"The potato talks," Lucifer acknowledged.

"Get out of here," Sam said, his heart pounding loud enough for Clara to hear.

"What, but I just got here!" Lucifer complained. He tilted his head to look at Clara. "And I owe your friend here a good time for expelling me. It took me forever to find you guys again, you know? And I'm a busy guy, I don't have a lot of time . . . So how about we speed this whole process up?" He spread his arms, looking reasonable. "Say yes and let me in, or I'll slowly tear the limbs from your friends here."

"Ha! Commander Strax fears no torture methods!" Strax said proudly. "Do your worst, fiend! The Sontaran race laughs at you!" he fired a missile, sending it to collide directly with Lucifer's face. With the little time he had, Sam flipped open his knife and slit his palm open, drawing the red symbol on the sidewalk. As Lucifer emerged from the smoke and rubble of the small grenade, his face bloodied but slowly healing, Sam started to slam his hand against the symbol. With a flick of his wrist, Lucifer sent Sam flying through the air, slamming into a tree.

"So close," Lucifer said, making a pouty face as he leaned in front of Sam. "But we're destined to be together, Sam. Accept it. Stop right there, Miss Oswald," he said, standing and turning to see Clara tracing over the symbol with her own blood. He lifted his hand, and Clara slammed backwards onto the ground, hard. Rory lifted his fist, aiming at Lucifer, and in return Lucifer smacked him across the ribs, sending him flying a few feet and knocking into the Doctor.

Lucifer frowned as he was smacked forward by Amy, who was holding the crowbar in her hand. Lucifer grabbed it and twisted it, twisting Amy's arm. She let go, ducking under the crowbar as River and Strax rushed the angel, but they too were thrown backwards. Lucifer was stunned once again, though, as Amy slammed the back of his head with the crowbar.

"Now, boy!" Strax yelled at Clara, who had rolled over and was crawling towards the symbol. Lucifer looked at her, and they glared into each others eyes as Clara slammed her hand onto the symbol.

There was a bright light, and Lucifer disappeared.

"Are you okay?" Sam demanded as he helped Clara sit up. She nodded and Sam sighed, looking her in the eyes. "I need you to do me a favor."

"What?" Clara asked as he ripped a piece of his shirt to wrap her hand.

"Stop pissing off Satan," Sam replied, and he and Clara couldn't help but grin at each other.

"Hey, thanks," Sam called to Amy as she helped Rory up. "You really saved our asses back there."

"So name a kid after me or somethin'," Amy teased, winking.

The Doctor looked at his sonic as the light began to blink. "We've got messages from the others," he said solemnly. "We should get back to the TARDIS."

* * *

><p>Crowley rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a massive headache coming on. He sat in the dark bedroom – which he noticed was decorated in his favorite colors, deep, rich purples and reds and, of course, black – in an antique chair. In the large, king sized bed, he could just make out Amelia Winchester's rising and falling silhouette as she slept, her body buried beneath a thick, red down cover and her head propped on silk pillows.<p>

Crowley had needed to escape for a short while, and after that discussion with Dean, who could blame him?

"What the hell is going on here?" Dean had demanded, looking at each of the time travelers in time, his eyes stopping on Bobby. "Holy crap."

Bobby was surprised when Dean wrapped his arm around him, and Bobby hugged back gingerly. Dean pulled away, looking a bit happier.

"Bobby, you're here!"

"Guess so."

Dean's face fell a bit, though, as he realized. "This is a time travel thing, isn't it?"

"What gave it away?" Crowley snorted.

"What, besides for the fact you're not dead?" Dean snapped. Ah, Crowley thought with relief. Same old Squirrel.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say this has something to do with Metatron," Dean said, as they sat down. "Where's Amy?"

"Amelia? She's . . ." Castiel hesitated.

Dean frowned. "Where is she, Cas?"

"During the attack outside, there was an assassin, it seemed, and he managed to . . ."

Dean looked almost sick. "Where _is_ she?"

"In the bedroom, resting," Crowley interjected. "She'll be fine."

"Did you give her –?"

"Taken care of," Crowley cut him off.

Dean nodded, looking a bit more relaxed, and he slumped into a chair. "It's not her fault," Dean explained. "When Aims was a kid, since she was a baby, Metatron and his men had been sneaking around, feeding and injecting her with demons blood, up until she was twelve. No one even knew, they were trying to turn her into a weapon against us. We caught on but it was too late. If she stops drinking it, she'll die."

"Dean," Bobby began. "About Sam . . ."

"Same year," Dean said quietly. "He found out and we sent a retaliation force at Metatron and his men. Azazel killed him."

"Azazel?" Meg demanded, looking shocked. "That's impossible. He's dead."

"Well, yeah, until Metatron opened the deepest, darkest hole of the pit and drug out everything he could find," Dean said. "Ruby didn't last long, Meg – you – uh, I don't know – anyway, you and or her took Ruby down within the first few months. Alistair . . ." Dean set his jaw. "Alistair laid low until a few years ago, when he came after me. But my girl, Jo-Ellen, she was home alone that night. I shoulda never left her alone, I had gone on a mission. When I got home, my daughter was carved up. So I cut off Alistair's head."

As if on cue, the door opened, and an attractive young women entered the room. Her eyes were the exact color of Dean's, emerald green, and her golden hair was up in a messy bun. She was wearing cargo pants and a tank top, and white and silver scars ran all over her arms, over her chest, on her neck, even a few on her face. Still, she was beautiful, and practically the spitting image of Jo Harvelle only with Dean's eyes and smirk.

"Jo," Dean said, standing. He looked grim. "Did you know about all this?" he asked, gesturing towards the others.

Jo did a little half shrug. "I mean, I knew what Amy sent me . . ."

"Sent?" Castiel asked, eyebrows raised.

"The demons blood," Meg realized. "Gives regular humans gifts."

"That's right," Jo nodded. "Amy can project thoughts and images into people's heads, as long as she knows them well enough."

"Jo and Amy were brought up as sisters practically," Dean said. "Since Sam . . ." he composed himself, taking a breath. "Since Amy was without her dad, I took her in."

"I felt Amy get hurt," Jo said grimly. "But she's going to be alright?"

"Seems that way," Meg assured the girl, and Jo nodded.

There was a sudden blur of blonde and green, and suddenly a toddler had propelled herself into Castiel's lap. Blonde curls bounced as she giggled in excitement. "Uncle Cas! Uncle Cas! I found two whole dollars in your coat and papa said I could keep them."

"Oh, Mary honey," Jo said, picking the toddler up and sitting her on her hip. "That's, um, that's not your uncle Cas, okay? It's a different one."

This seemed to barely faze the child. "Can I keep the dollars, mama?"

"Sure, baby. Why don't you go wait for me in the living room, okay?"

Crowley stood, shocked at all the sudden changed and awkward exchanges. "Suppose I'd best be checking on the Missus," he said.

"Keep making jokes, you asshole, I'm going to –" Bobby was saying, but Crowley chose to ignore him.

Now, here Crowley sat in the dark room, the black curtains pulled tightly closed and the only source of light a candle on the windowsill.

Crowley had to admit, the apartment held a sort of appeal to him. It was as though he had designed it himself.

Oh, right, he reminded himself. He probably did.

He looked towards the bed when he heard a stirring, and cleared his throat as Amelia sat up.

She looked surprised to see him in the dim light. "Fergus."

"You do keep calling me that," Crowley sighed, standing and approaching her, opening the curtains a bit to let the moonlight stream in.

"Well it's your name," Amelia said sharply. "Or at least, for me. No one else really ever caught on."

"I can imagine," the demon murmured as he looked down at the street, where soldiers were dragging dead bodies away in hazard suits. He turned to look at Amelia, noticing as she sat up nothing covered her chest except for a practically see through sheet. He could see all of her assets, as well as her bandage.

Amelia smirked. "You never were very subtle."

Crowley raised his eyes to hers, which were laughing.

"Not one of my virtues," he replied.

"You don't have any virtues."

That one made him smirk. "Touché."

Amelia winced as she rubbed her shoulder, her whole left side aching dully. She reached for an Advil bottle beside the bed, shaking it, and she sighed when it was empty. Crowley reached into his coat pocket and removed a brand new bottle, setting it on the bed stand. "Found these in the kitchen. Thought you might want them."

"Thanks," she said, swallowing two, washing it down with a swig from her flask.

"Let me ask you something," Crowley said, sitting on the end of the bed. He nodded at the flask. "Ever tried to quit?"

"Only like a hundred times," Amelia replied. "The longest I went was two weeks. That was the closest I came to dying, I went into a coma for days and they had to practically pump it into me via IV."

"And myself?" Crowley raised an eyebrow.

"Same thing after all those years with it. You were different, you could go longer due to the whole demon thing, but when you needed it, you needed it immediately. That's why we were so good for each other, I guess."

Crowley frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Amelia said, sitting up, and the sheet slid down a little more. Crowley swallowed.

"Your blood was best for me, honestly," Amelia said, looking slightly embarrassed. "I got the demon part into my system, but since you had the human blood in you, it didn't totally – I don't know, overtake me. It gave me just the right amount. And for you . . ." She tucked a piece of hair that had come lose from her braid behind her ear. "Mine had just enough human in it to keep you alive, but not so much that you went totally sentimental."

"Like we were meant to be," Crowley chuckled darkly.

Amelia smiled sadly. "You always said that." She struggled to stand, heading towards the bathroom. Crowley caught only a glimpse of her smooth back in the moonlight as she slipped a robe on. She splashed some water on her face, the cool liquid soothing her burning skin. She dried off, dabbing at her face with a towel before returning to the room, tying the robe around her. In the dark, her hip slammed into the nightstand, and she cursed, catching a vase as it fell forward, crashing.

"Oh, damn it," Amelia muttered as the glass cut a gash across her hand. She looked up sheepishly. "You always said I was about as graceful as a newborn moose."

Even Crowley had to chuckle, sitting Amelia on the bed and then sitting beside her to examine the cut in the moonlight.

As Crowley took her petite, slender fingers in his own gruff hands, he felt something almost like a shiver go through him, the feel of her skin stirring something in him.

Amelia watched as he examined the cut and said, "Just a scrape, nothing to worry about."

"Take it," she replied softly, and Crowley looked at her, brows knitted.

Amelia nodded at her hand, where the deep red liquid pooled in her palm. "Go ahead. I know that look in your eyes. You're _starving_. So go ahead. It's the least I can do."

"I've never . . ." Crowley began, and Amelia raised her eyebrows.

"What, had it fresh from the tap?" she looked slightly amused. "I think you'll find it's much more enjoyable than injections." She lifted her hand a bit, and Crowley shuddered in anticipation.

He delicately lifted her hand to his lips, sucking gently. It was unlike anything he had ever had before, ten times better than injecting as he felt hot emotion spread through him, clouding his mind with feelings and . . . what was that?

Ah. Ecstasy.

The cut was not deep, and Crowley pulled her palm from his lips, though he didn't release it as they stared into each others eyes. At first, Crowley had thought her eyes were the exact color of Sam's, but on closer inspection, they were quite a bit darker, and seemed to glisten in the moonlight with silver flecks.

It was in a violent passion in which they seized each other, holding each other tight and firmly as they fell into the bed, their lips pressed together in a perfectly fitting way. Amy's tongue danced along the bottom of his lip, seeking entrance to taste him, to have him. Crowley ran his fingers through her hair, undoing the braid that had been so neatly pleated behind her.

Amy was smooth and perfect, never losing rhythm as she pushed his jacket off his shoulders and unknotted his tie, letting it flutter over the side of the bed and onto the floor. Her fingers played at the buttons on his shirt, her hands lingering on his chest for a few moments before pushing the shirt all the way off.

Amy rolled over, standing. She slowly began to untie her robe, letting the fabric fall into a pool of silk at her feet. Her body was deliciously smooth, shimmering in the moonlight, and Crowley felt his breath catch in his throat as he rid himself of the burden of trousers, only to be pulled back onto the bed as Amy rolled over so the demon was over top of her. Crowley started right below her ear, kissing gently at first and trailing towards her chest, where Amelia held him close to her, caressing him gently.

That night, for the first time in centuries, Crowley did something more than have meaningless sex.

He made love, and somehow at the same time, fell in love.


	35. Chapter 35

Jo, Ash, and Jenny ran into the Doctor and Rose in the lobby.

"He stole my –" The Doctor began angrily.

"Yes, we know, sir," Jenny said with an incline of her head. "It's upstairs."

"And where is the Master?"

"Slapped the vortex manipulator on Charlie and sent the two of 'em back to our own time," Ash said. "Once she gets the Master guy nice and cozy in his new cell she's gonna come back for us."

"Can she handle him on her own?" Rose asked, concerned.

"Charlie has an angel living inside of her," Jo smirked. "I think they'll be fine."

As if on cue, there was a bright light, and Charlie appeared. Jo raised her eyebrows.

"We're good to go," Charlie nodded. "Master is taken care of, but that's not the important thing – we've got to get back ASAP, Mary is in labor!"

"Okay, uh, do you know how to deliver a baby?" Jo asked, surprised.

Charlie looked sick. "Throw me a bloody ghost or anything disgusting, but I cannot watch the miracle of birth."

"But you're gay," Ash said bluntly. "Aren't you used to, you know, down there?"

Charlie glared. "That doesn't mean I want to see it stretched into oblivion."

"I can help, miss," Jenny volunteered. She nodded at the Doctor. "Sir. We'll be meeting again."

"Will we?"

Jenny smirked, flipping open her own vortex manipulator and taking Ash's arm. Charlie did the same, taking Jo's arm. With a wave, they disappeared.

Jo felt nauseous as they arrived in the bunker – time travel really, truly didn't suit her.

But she couldn't be concerned with that, because the sound of screaming hit her.

Jo ran down the hallway, coming to a stop at Mary's bedroom. Kevin was there, looking pale as Mary clutched his hand. Jenny entered the room, examining the scene. "A cold cloth for her head," she told Jo quickly. "And towels, you got any gloves?"

Charlie and Jo rushed off to look for the supplies, and Jenny took Mary's other hand.

"Ma'am, my name is Jenny Flint," she said calmly. "What's your name?"

"Mary W-Watson," she croaked, before screaming in pain.

"Lovely name, Mary. Now, we're going to get through this together, alright?"

"Are you a doctor?"

"Well, no. I'm a maid, actually. But I got some experience in delivering babies, I assisted a midwife for a few months when I was younger."

Mary nodded, face contorted in pain.

The girls returned with the supplies, and Jenny set to work, getting Mary comfortable. Kevin was looking very nervous indeed – he and Mary had become friendly while the others had been gone (not to mention Mary was squeezing his hand so tightly it was beginning to bruise) and looked at Jenny hesitantly.

"You're doing fine, Mary," Jenny said, both to the woman and teenager. "Mary, we're almost there. I want you to give it a few more good pushes, alright?"

Mary screamed, and Kevin screamed (whether it was from her bone crushing grip or from being frightened was a mystery).

"Good, yes, I can see the head!" Jenny told Mary. "Another good push, dear – that's it, here it comes!"

The sound of ear-piercing screams filled the room, and Mary panted, tear and sweat stained as she watched Jenny stand, cradling a small, screaming girl. After cutting the cord and cleaning the child off, she wrapped her in a soft purple blanket and passed her to Mary.

Mary cried, talking softly and sweetly to the baby, who looked up at her with bright, curious eyes. She waved her tiny fists, and Mary kissed her forehead gently. "Oh, she's lovely. You are, yes . . ."

"You got a name for her?" Jenny asked as she cleaned up.

"Christine." Mary's eyes glinted with mischief. "Christine Sherlock Watson."

* * *

><p>"What about Yellow Eyes?"<p>

"What about him?"

"Are we just gonna let him get away?"

"For now, we concentrate on finding this Moriarty fellow."

Dean, still wary of the reptilian woman who called herself Vastra, narrowed his eyes. "You said you know the Doc?"

"Yes, the Doctor and I are old friends," she nodded.

"Are you as old as he is?"

"Good heavens, boy, what sort of question is that to ask a lady?"

Ellen hid a smirk as Dean looked conflicted. She kind of liked Vastra.

"Moriarty could be anywhere," Sherlock was muttering, thinking. If he were Moriarty in New York in the nineteen seventies, where would he go?

Vastra paused, frowning for a moment. "Which one of you is a Mister John Watson?"

"That's me, why?" John frowned.

"My wife and I share a telepathic bond. She has just informed me that you are now a father. Congratulations."

"A – a father?" his eyes widened. "Mary had the baby?"

"Yes, a healthy little girl," Vastra said as she continued down the street. "Christine Sherlock, she called her."

"_What_?"

Sherlock looked very smug, but said nothing.

"And they've succeeded in finding and apprehending the Master," Vastra continued. "They've returned to your base."

"How are we gonna find anyone as sneaky as Moriarty in this city?" Ellen interupted, frowning.

Dean started to reply, but frowned when his cell phone started beeping.

"How do you get service here?" Sherlock demanded. "It's impossible."

"Doc did this thing to our phones," Dean said, looking at the phone. "Service anytime, anywhere." He read through the text, frowning. "It's from Crowley," he muttered. "They found Metatron."

"Did they get him?" Ellen asked quickly.

Dean shook his head. "No, they're working on it. He says to get back to the bunker."

"What about Moriarty?" Sherlock demanded.

"I see where he's going with this," Ellen nodded.

"If we have Metatron we can persuade him to give us Moriarty's exact location," Dean confirmed.

"Persuade?" John frowned.

Dean gave him a look, and John understood.

"We can't just leave him here!" Sherlock said, getting angry.

"If we have Metatron, he's trapped here," Vastra added. "That will keep him subdued until we get our information. He'll be hiding, thinking we're still looking for him."

"What point is there to go back to the bunker?" Sherlock asked, annoyed.

"My daughter, for one," John said firmly.

"We can figure out exactly what the Master knows, too," Dean added. He sent a quick text to Sam, alerting him of the situation. "Alright. Let's get back to our own time."


	36. Chapter 36

Amy, Rory, River, and the Doctor laughed about something in the Ponds living room as Sam painted symbols on the wall, hiding them from Lucifer. Clara joined him, noticing his hard face and set jaw. She took his hand, and he looked down at her.

"Are you alright?" Clara asked softly.

Sam inhaled sharply. "I'm just worried," he said.

"About Lucifer?"

Sam gave a small nod, and Clara guided him to the table, where they sat down.

"He found us so easily," Sam said, running his hands through his hair. "Nowhere is safe for us, Clara."

"The Bunker?"

"Not in this time period," he sighed vaguely. His phone began beeping, and he frowned at it, reading the message he had just received from Dean.

"What is it?" Clara asked, tilting her head.

"They've got the Master back at the Bunker," Sam said. "Cas and the others found Metatron, they're going for him. He wants us to help."

"I'll tell the Doctor," Clara said, standing quickly and going to deliver the news.

"Will we see you again?"

"I – I'm sorry."

The Doctor and Amy were both teary eyed, standing in front of the TARDIS with River and Rory. Clara and Sam had gone inside to give them some privacy.

Amy swallowed, wrapping her arms around the Doctor. "We love you," she whispered.

He laid his cheek on her head, unable to find words.

Tearfully, Amy pulled away, and the Doctor reached for Rory's hand, shaking it before pulling him in for a hug, as well. Even Rory was starting to look misty.

River took her parents hands. "I'll be back," she promised. They nodded, and River and the Doctor opened the door to the TARDIS.

The Doctor turned once more to look at Amy and Rory, who had their arms wrapped around each other. Swallowing, he turned and left.

Amy gave a sob as she watched the TARDIS disappear.

"Raggedy man," she whispered, and smiled a bit. "Goodbye."

"A daughter?" Sam exclaimed. "I have a daughter?"

"Hey, calm it down, I do, too, and a granddaughter!"

Sam ran his hand through his hair, sitting on the TARDIS and looking at Dean as though he were insane. "A daughter."

"That's what Meg said."

"And I'm dead."

"Well it is the future, Sammy."

"But you're not dead."

"Just old, apparently."

"Okay. Alright, so, uh, what's her name?"

"Who?"

"My kid, Dean!"

"Oh. Amy, I think."

Sam laughed, remembering what Amelia Pond had told him when she saved their lives.

Dean frowned. "What?"

"N-nothing," Sam laughed again. He swallowed, composing himself. "What about your kid?"

"Lucia, but she goes by Jo, who, get this: was her mom!"

"Was?"

"She's dead in the future too. So we're going to have to change it. Again."

"Is everyone dead?" Sam asked, shocked.

Dean shook his head. "No, but we're gonna save em. We stopped the first Croatoan future, we can do it again."

Sam frowned, looking around. Clara was with the Doctor, arguing about something in that manner they had, and Sam looked back at Dean. "So, my kid – Amy – her mom . . .?"

"No one said anything about it to me," Dean said. "Sorry, man."

Sam nodded.

He and Dean were seated on the TARDIS, waiting for River; The Doctor, Clara, Sherlock, Vastra, Jenny, and Strax were already on board, but River had gone to retrieve her vortex manipulator. The others were staying behind to guard the Master.

River finally came swaggering through the doors, pulling them closed behind her, and they were off.

* * *

><p>Amelia rolled over, the dim morning light streaming through the windows and hitting her back. She gingerly stretched, wincing a bit when her shoulder began throbbing. She relaxed, though, when a hand began messaging gently at the nape of her neck, loosening the muscles.<p>

"You'll heal faster, you know," Crowley said, gently rubbing her other shoulder now. "If you have some more."

"I'd better not," she replied sleepily. "Too much makes me aggressive."

"Sounds like fun."

"Oh, you have no idea." She smirked as she turned to face him, and Crowley took her face in his hands, kissing her gently at first, then slightly more passionately.

"Mmm." Amy pushed him away a bit. "We've got to get up and at 'em. I have a raid going out at one, and while I'm gone you guys can work with Dean and Jo to find a way to grab Metatron and get him back to your time."

"If we do that, and stop him, what happens to you?"

"Maybe nothing. Probably everything. We'll cease to exist, at least in this manner."

Crowley felt his heart drop, passion and anger spreading through him. "I've just got you," he hissed.

"Don't get snippy, Fergus. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," she promised.

"I don't usually connect to people like this . . ." He began.

"But we're imprinted. I know," she said gently. "I lost everything when I lost you the first time. I'm not ready to do it again. But right now we have more pressing issues to attend to."

Crowley didn't look happy, but knew she was right.

That day, Crowley was nastier and harsher than usual. Meg would never say, but she knew it was because he was worried. She had seen the way he glared at the jeep that took Amelia away on the raid, the way he had stroked her hand once before she left, stony faced, and the way he had gone straight to the liquor cabinet after she had left.

He didn't pay attention to the others as they poured over maps and plans. If someone interrupted his thoughts, he would snap and make rude comments. Eventually the group decided it was best to leave him be.

Six o'clock rolled around, and the raiders arrived back in the four army jeeps they had taken, though they were slightly fewer in numbers. Dean explained it was to be expected when going into a hot Croat part of the city, but it was population control and had to be done or else the disease would spread.

As the group made their way downstairs, Crowley felt the very human emotion that he recognized as relief. Amelia was messy, her boots muddy from the rain and her hair coming out of its braid. But still, she as unhurt, and Crowley was happy.

"Good work, soldiers," she was telling the large group of raiders. "That was one of our most successful raids in months, and the Staten Islanders will be glad of the supplied we could gather. Everyone take the night off and get some rest." As the soldiers became to thin out, Amy called, "Hold up, soldier," to a young man in uniform. He looked shocked at being addressed and approached Amy with respect, saluting. "At ease," Amy said. "It's Jefferson, right?"

"Y-yes ma'am, Sergeant Leopold Jefferson," he said, looking surprised she knew his name.

Amy nodded. "You've got a wife back on the Island. Miranda, right?"

Jefferson looked pleased. "That's right, commander."

"Last I heard she was having a baby."

Jefferson, looking proud, pulled a folded photo from his front pocket and handed it to Amy. She unfolded it and smiled at the photo of a young baby girl with a tuft of blonde hair being held by a young woman with a huge smile on her face and Leopold Jefferson at her side.

"She's a beautiful girl, soldier," Amy said, and Jefferson beamed.

"Thank you ma'am."

Amy handed the photo back to him, and watched as he tucked the photo away. "Leopold, why don't you close your eyes and turn around, and you think of your little girls face?"

Jefferson looked confused, then a look as though realization was dawning upon him. He took a deep breath and swallowed. "Where, ma'am?"

"Your left shoulder, soldier."

Jefferson gave a slight nod and looked at his shoulder. Sure enough, there was just a small cut on his uniform, seeping blood. He looked up, and Amy could see his eyes already becoming bloodshot.

"You tell her . . ." Jefferson swallowed. "You tell her to be a good girl, alright?"

"I'll make sure she grows up knowing her father was the bravest of men," Amy swore.

Jefferson took a deep breath. "And you tell my Miranda . . ." he shook his head. "Aw never mind. She knows." He took his helmet off, setting it on the ground. He took another deep breath, and he shook, beginning to show the effects of the virus. Slowly, he squeezed his eyes shut, one tear rolling down his cheek, thinking about his daughter.

Amy raised her pistol, looking saddened but knowing what she had to do.

Everyone was silent as the crack of the bullet sounded across the evening, and Jefferson fell forwards.

"Should I alert his wife, ma'am?" a soldier asked a few moments later.

Amy shook her head. "No. No, I'll do it myself." She swallowed, looking sad as the soldier left and Crowley joined her.

"He was a good man," she said, sighing. "And a good soldier. What a goddamn shame."

"Do you want me to go with you, darling?"

"I – yeah," Amy nodded, taking his hand. He curled his fingers around hers, pleased to feel her wedding band back in place.

"Come on then," Crowley said softly.


	37. Chapter 37

"I called in the Calvary, but they're still not here yet," Meg said a few mornings later as she entered the kitchen.

"What do you mean, they're not here?" Bobby frowned.

"I guess time is different for them. Five minutes for them could be five days for us."

"So, what? We just sit on our thumbs until they arrive?" Bobby snorted.

"I guess that's up to Amelia," Castiel said. "She's the commander here, after all."

"She's a baby!"

"She is practically Sam's age, Bobby," Cas reminded him.

Bobby grumbled. "Well, he's justa kid, too."

"Where is Amelia, anyway?" Castiel frowned.

"Where do you think?" Meg snorted. "Holed up with –"

"She's on Staten Island again, actually," Crowley said as he too appeared in the kitchen. His hair was a mess and he was wearing a long black bathrobe and slippers. He fished around the fridge for a moment before reemerging with a piece of cold pizza.

"Well, I'm glad you're enjoying your vacation, princess," Bobby said sarcastically. "Sorry, which one are you know? Crowley, the King of Hell, or Fergus, the House Husband?"

"Amusing." He took a bite of the pizza and looked thoughtful. "Sorry, I'm having trouble recalling – why are you here again, Bobby? Oh, right, because I wanted you to be. I pulled your red neck out of heaven, and I can kick it back into Hell without so much as scuffing my boot."

"You know, I'd really like to make a rude comment at you, but I'm afraid in your fragile human state you might break down crying," the hunter retorted. His eyes widened as the rug was yanked out from under him and he went tumbling backwards with enough force to crack the counter as he slammed into it.

"Oops," Crowley said nonchalantly, sipping his coffee.

"You son of a –"

"Fergus McCloud, _what_ did you do to my kitchen?"

Crowley winced at Amelia's harsh tone. "Ah. Sorry, dear, but seeing as it was Bobby's fault . . ."

"Like hell!" Bobby argued.

"I don't care who started it, I'm finishing it," Amelia said firmly. "Coffee?"

Crowley handed her a mug. "Three sugars, two creams."

"Just how I like it," she replied as though it were perfectly normal, taking the cup and sipping it.

"I'm uncomfortable," Castiel said.

"Took the words right outta my mouth," Meg said. "C'mon, Clarence, let's let them have their turn at being the odd couple."

Bobby called everyone an idjit, following the angel and demon.

"You're home earlier than I thought," Crowley remarked.

"A lot of the Stanten Islanders aren't my biggest fans," Amelia said. "After all, if it wasn't for me, they'd still have the great Sam Winchester to save them."

"Sam was never my favorite."

"You have favorites?"

"Well, don't tell Dean," Crowley smirked, leaning forward. "But I have a new favorite Winchester now."

Amelia smirked and kissed his forehead. "What's the good in that if I can't brag?" She stood straight, looking tired. "We should get dressed. I need to get out of these clothes and into something more comfortable."

Crowley snapped his fingers, and was instantly clothed in his black suit, tie, and shoes, his hair clean and brushed. Amelia, however, gasped when she realized she was covered only by a very tight black corset and matching lace thong.

"_Fergus_!"

She laughed, however, in amusement as he wrapped his arms around her and they were suddenly in her bed between the silk sheets, only now they both sported even less clothing than before.

"You cheeky bastard," she laughed as he trailed kissed down her neck. He hooked a thumb through the waistline of her thong, pulling it down slowly. He then trailed his fingers back up towards her inner thigh, tracing soft skin until he found what he was looking for. Amelia gasped, and Crowley smirked, amusing it was in pleasure. It was when Amelia began to scramble from under the covers and clutch her head that Crowley realized something was wrong.

"Melia? What is it, darling?" Though as he spoke, he could hear it, too; like an annoying ringing in his ears at first, and then like a supersonic high pitched dog whistle. He could understand why Amelia was crying; if it was that terrible to him, he couldn't imagine what it sounded like with her amplified psychic senses.

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley clothed both of them, and dragged Amelia towards the corner in the rom furthest from mirrors of windows, which were shattering around them. Crowley wrapped his arms over Amelia, trying to help cover her ears, and felt blood soaking through their fingers.

The high pitched noise faded after a few agonizing moments, and Crowley felt his own face; blood was streaming from his own ears.

Amelia hastily got to her feet, grabbing a towel and sopping up the blood from her ears.

The door burst open, and Bobby stood there, shotgun in hand. "You alright?"

Amelia nodded, dabbing at her other ear. "Metatron," she explained. "He's close by, and he's pissed about something."

"What do we do?" Crowley asked.

"Assemble the Avengers, I suppose," Amelia sighed, grabbing her radio by the bed. "Jo, do you copy?"

"I copy, Aims – how you holding up?" the younger Winchesters voice crackled through.

"We're fine here, the Islanders?"

"Looks like the angel proofing worked against sound; no one noticed a thing. Dec and I did, though, we were on our way to Manhatten."

"Who's available?"

"Most of the other leaders are still out on that Kansas raid, but there's me and Deacon. Our sources told us that Metatron was supposed to be in Kansas, but I guess it was a wild goose chase."

"Alright, we'll have to scramble the troops that we've got available."

"Copy that, boss lady. See you in ten."

Amelia set down her radio and strolled across the room, pulling open a cabinet to reveal a large screen and console. She pushed a few buttons and waited. A moment later, Dean – of this time, of course – appeared on the screen via his wrist com device, his face splattered with blood and dirt. Screaming could be heard behind him, and Jo gasped as she entered the room with a man who must be Deacon.

"Dean?" Amelia exclaimed. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

"No, we were set up!" the hunter called back, ducking behind a tree. "We came straight into an ambush of Croats, not to mention angels and a few demons. We . . ." he looked sick and shook his head, his eyes wet. "We lost Cas, Amy."

Jo gasped and sobbed, burying her face against Deacon.

"No. No, don't say that," Amelia shook her head violently. "Who?"

"Metatron."

"That's impossible, Metatron is here, I think he's sending an attack force –"

"No, Amy, no!" Dean yelled back. "It's a trick, don't go out there – do not go out there! It's not Metatron, it's _him_!" He groaned as something struck him in the back, and he fell forward.

"Dean!" Amelia called. Dean had gotten to his feet and stabbed an angel blade through a bloody Croat. His eyes widened as he caught sight of Metatron, standing over the broken, smoking body of Castiel. Dean cocked his gun and started towards him.

"Dad!" Jo screamed, ripping herself away from Deacon and stumbling towards the console. "Dad, no!"

"Jo, you be careful. You two, Amy," Dean called, looking at them through the screen. "You guys stay okay, you got me? You don't die!"

Dean shot several times at Metatron, screaming, before there was a sickening crack.

Jo screamed as the screen went out. She sobbed, holding onto Amy as she sunk to the floor, sobbing. Amy sank with her, tears streaming from her face as she stared into space. Gently, she laid a hand on her cousin's head and made her sleep, projecting calm, soothing images into her brain. Castiel, who had joined the others, lifted her and lay her down on the bed gently.

"Amelia," Cas said as he joined her. "Dean said _he_ was coming. Who is?"

"It's over," Amy said quietly. "Lucifer is here."


	38. Chapter 38

"We thought maybe after Dad died Metatron didn't want to fool with finding Lucifer another vessel, so he tossed him back in the cage," Amy was saying faintly. "But a few weeks ago rumors started to circulate about some extreme – like, archangel extreme – things happening. We thought . . . we hoped . . ."

"Then we'll just have to stop them ourselves," Crowley said.

Amy shook her head, still looking dazed. "It's over. We can't take him. Not without Dean and the others. And Jo's in no condition to fight."

"We'll try!" Crowley told her.

Amy just shook her head again. "It's over," she repeated.

Crowley drew back his hand, slapping it across her face and then grabbing her shoulders roughly, shaking her. "No, it's not!" he snapped back. "Because if it's over out there, then it's over in here! And that means us Amelia! Are you prepared to accept that?"

"I . . ." She rubbed her cheek where he had struck her, looking dazed.

"Are you?" he yelled.

"No!" she yelled back, blinking a few times. "I'm not!" She looked at Deacon. "Send the remaining civvies home to the Island. This isn't their fight."

Deacon gave a nod and did as he was told.

The others did their preparing in their own ways; Amelia armed herself to the T, though she knew it was hopeless; no human weapons would destroy Lucifer. Meg and Castiel were nowhere to be seen, probably doing a sweep of the much too quiet borough. Bobby was drinking and cleaning his gun. Deacon had joined him. And Crowley was loading the Colt.

"Might not work," he shrugged at Amelia. "But it'll slow him down."

They all gathered on the roof later in the evening. The sky was the color of blood, which Bobby figured was bad luck (though he said nothing). It was eerily quiet as they waited.

"Hello, brother."

Castiel turned and faced Lucifer, who had appeared behind them. He looked calm, relaxed even, as he leaned against the brick.

"Lucifer," Castiel greeted him back.

"You all are all scrambled through time, huh? I just got back from the forties. That's the second time Sam's girlfriend has expelled me, you know. She's feisty."

"Why are you here, Lucifer?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he raised his eyebrows, looking at Amelia.

She snorted. "If you wanna kill me, come at me."

"Kill you? Why would I want to kill you? I need you."

Amelia frowned, and so did Crowley, who stepped forward. Lucifer's eyes darted to the demon.

"Crowley. It's been a while," Lucifer remarked.

"Not long enough, mate," Crowley said.

Lucifer was silent for a moment, looking between Crowley and Amelia. "Ohh. You two? The so called King of Hell and a Winchester? Oh, yeah, that makes this just . . . _so_ much better. Don't even think about it, Meg," he added as Meg raised the angel blade behind him. "It'll only piss me off." With a flick of his wrist, he sent her barreling across the roof and straight into Cas. "There, why don't you two just lay there? I understand you've been doing a lot of that lately."

"Back off of them, if you're not here to kill us, then what do you want?" Amelia demanded.

"What do I _want_? Well, a lot of things, actually. Heaven, for starters, and Hell, too. And everything in between that – Earth, Purgatory, you know – well, I'll take that too. But what do I need, well, that's different. Cause there's only one thing I really need, and that's a strong enough vessel." He spread his hands, looking innocent. "And it's been brought to my attention that Sam is never gonna say yes again, no matter what I do or who I skin – so I guess I'll settle for the next best thing."

"And what's that?" Crowley sneered.

"Next of kin. And since my bro Mikey called dibs on ol whats-his-name – was it Alan? Alex? Whatever, doesn't matter – I'm going to have to settle for the next closest thing." He gestured to Amelia. "So I'm going to be getting in touch with my feminine side."

"Not in your dreams, douchewad," Amelia replied. "You need my consent. And you can do whatever you want to me, the answer is and always will be no."

"See, that's the mistake I made with Sammy," Lucifer said, nodding thoughtfully. "I let him keep his sanity. I figured out, the hard way, that it's actually way easier to manipulate someone into doing what you say when they don't know what you're saying."

"Lucifer, stop this," Castiel commanded, approaching his brother. "It's over, it's too late for you. I'm sorry."

"No you're not, Cassy. Not yet, anyway," Lucifer said.

"Hey, Cas."

Castiel spun around to see Metatron – who obviously couldn't see him, from the way his eyes were empty black craters.

"Funny, I coulda sworn I just ripped out your spine back in Kansas," Metatron said, grinning. "And now it looks like I get to do it again."

"Cas, Lucifer is gone," Meg exclaimed, staring at the spot where Lucifer had just been standing.

Cas turned to address her, only to be thrown forward by Metatron. Meg took this opportunity and drew an angel blade, attacking Metatron. The angel grabbed her wrist before she could strike. "The Croats got to you before I got my chance in Kansas," he breathed. "But I owe you for these eyes." Her wrist snapped and Meg cried out before trying to kick her way out of his grip.

Castiel punched Metatron in the jaw, sending him tumbling backwards, where Bobby slammed the butt of his rifle against the angels head. Metatron slammed Bobby to the ground, knocking the hunter unconscious, and then shoved Amelia out of the way as she and Crowley attempted to take him by surprise.

Crowley sat up and looked over at Amelia, his eyes widening as he saw Lucifer standing over her. "Amy!"

Amelia didn't have time to react, her eyes going wide as Lucifer pressed two fingers to her forehead. Amy gasped, falling backwards and crying out.

"Melia," Crowley growled as he reached her, pulling her up. She looked confused and was sobbing, her eyes dazed.

"Don't worry," Lucifer was saying. "She's only deteriorating from the inside. Right now I'd say she's seeing everyone she's ever loved die by the hand of God, and the only way to stop it is to graciously accept my offer."

"Put her back," Crowley demanded. "You put her back, or I swear –"

"You'll do what?" Lucifer raised his eyebrows, grinning. "You're nothing, Crowley. _The Once and Former King_. That's a book, right? Something like that?" his smirk grew. "Your reign is over."

There was a blinding white light as Castiel plunged an angel blade through Metatron's chest; the angel collapses, leaving smoking etches of wings behind him.

Panting, Castiel helped Meg up and looked at Lucifer, who smirked.

"Thanks, kiddos. You saved me the trouble of killing the little weasel myself."

"Lucifer, you'll pay for this," Castiel warned.

"What's gonna happen, Cas? Am I gonna get punished? Will I rot in Hell?" he laughed.

Amelia stirred in Crowley's arms, her eyes frightened. "Lucifer . . ."

Grinning broadly, Lucifer turned. "Yes, Amelia?"

"I want to tell you yes . . ."

"Finally," Lucifer grinned broadly. "Go ahead, Amy."

"Yes," Amelia continued. "You _will_ rot in hell."

As if on cue, there was the sound of pure hope – or, that is, the TARDIS.


	39. Chapter 39

"Lucifer!" Sam snarled as soon as he was off the TARDIS. At first, Lucifer looked smug, but then frowned as he saw the stream of enemies emerge from the blue box. He quickly looked at Amelia, who had slipped into unconsciousness. As of right now, she was useless.

"Guess I'll be seeing you soon," the archangel remarked before disappearing.

"Scan the building," Dean commanded a few of the others. "Make sure he's not still here somewhere."

"Cas!" Crowley snapped sharply, and the angel approached, leaning beside Amelia. He placed a hand on her feverishly hot head and watched her eyes flutter under her eyelids.

"Fix her," Crowley hissed.

Castiel shook his head. "I can't. Lucifer was right. She's deteriorating from the inside, these wounds are images taken straight from the cage and projected into her head. They aren't physical, they are deep, deep emotion and mental scars."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying there's nothing I can do."

"There has to be something, you moron!" Crowley roared, his face flushing in anger. "Do _something_!"

"The only thing I could possibly do," Castiel said hesitantly. "Is put her out of her misery."

"Kill her?" Crowley exclaimed. "Why, you great prat, how dare you even suggest –"

"We can't take her with us, it's too dangerous," Castiel argued.

"Well we can't leave her here!"

"Cas," Meg said, pulling him away a bit. "Cas, we have to bring her."

"Meg, we can't –"

"Castiel, look at them. Don't you get it?" Meg demanded, watching Crowley bend over the woman. "They're us, Cas. They weren't supposed to become involved like that. They're each others unicorns."

Castiel's face softened a bit. "Doctor," he said with a sigh. "Can she come?"

"This world," the Doctor said, "is going to continue to exist, in an alternate timeline – an alternate dimension. If she comes, there's a zero percent chance she'll ever be able to come back."

"Take her," Deacon said, shouldering his gun. "She doesn't have anything here, not anymore. No dad, no Dean, no husband. She can have all of that with you guys."

"You're sure about this?" Castiel asked.

Deacon nodded. "It's what her Dad woulda wanted."

Castiel took a deep breath and turned to look at Crowley, who was staring back at him in desperation.

"She can come," Castiel said.

"Thank you," Crowley breathed, lifting Amelia and holding her close as the others headed for the TARDIS.

"Is this – is this her?" Sam swallowed, stopping Crowley and looking at her. "Is this my daughter?"

"I – yeah, Moose. Amelia."

Sam swallowed, and held his arms out. Crowley looked like he wanted to argue, but he was exhausted. He gently handed Amelia over to her father, brushing some hair out of her face. "You're going to be okay, love," he promised her, kissing her forehead.

"Crowley . . .?" Dean looked shocked.

Crowley took a deep breath. "Like I said, her name is Amelia. Amelia Winchester McCloud, if it means anything to you."

"You son of a –"

"Dad?" Amelia's eyes fluttered open as the TARDIS lurched. "I'm dead, aren't I? That's why you're here." She shook her head. "I knew I'd screw up."

"No, hey, you didn't screw up," Sam said, not knowing what to say.

"Oh my god," Amelia said as her bleary eyes focused on Clara, who stood beside Sam. "I'm not just dead. I'm in heaven. I made it to heaven. It must be if you and mom are both here."

Clara gasped and sobbed into her hand, and the Doctor quickly pulled her into him.

"You're not dead, Amelia," Sam promised.

Amelia looked tired and confused. "Fergus . . .?"

"I'm right here, Melia," Crowley interrupted, squeezing her hand.

"You're okay?"

"Course I'm okay. I always am, aren't I?"

Amelia smiled. "Cheeky bastard." Her eyelids fluttered. "Everything's a mess up here," she said, rubbing her head gently. "I don't think I can stay long."

"Of course you can, you have to," Crowley argued.

"Remember to hear me," she told him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze – or maybe she was just that weak. "I'll try – I'll try so hard to come back to you."

"You have to, Amy, you have to, understand? Amy? Amelia!"

"She's passed out," Sam swallowed, looking nervous. "What the hell is going on?"

"We need to get her down," River interrupted, guiding Sam off the TARDIS and down the hall towards an empty room. Sam laid his daughter on the bed, and River gently removed Amelia's leather jacket and unlaced her combat boots.

"We need to make her comfortable," River said. "I think just a long sleeved shirt will do, Sam?"

"Ye-yeah, sure," Sam said, racing from the room and returning with a large plaid shirt. River undressed and redressed Amelia as the boys collected medical equipment. When Crowley returned, his heart twisted to see Amelia unconscious and propped up on two pillows. John Watson was hooking up a heart monitor.

"She'll need an IV," Crowley said, and Sam frowned.

"Of course she will, she can't eat or drink –"

"Not that kind of IV, mate," Crowley swallowed. "She'll need demons blood." He quickly explained how she lived on it and Sam paled, looking at her.

"They did that to her?" he whispered.

"It's a bitch, yeah?" Crowley said, sinking into a chair. "Oh, no, leave those off," he told River as she reached to flip on a lamp. "Too much artificial light, it gives her a headache. She prefers regular darkness."

John returned with a bag of red fluid, and Crowley thought of Meg – maybe she wasn't the terrible little whore he had assumed she was after all.

"Crowley," Sam said, crossing his arms as the others left, leaving just the two of them in the room with Amelia. "You need to tell me what happened."

"What can I tell you, mate?" Crowley grouched. "I show up in the future and come to learn I had been bound in matrimony with your kid of all people."

"You _married_ my daughter?"

"Should I start calling you dad?"

"Shut up, Crowley. I . . . I just . . ." He threw his hands in the air. "What the hell?"

Crowley ran a hand over his face and began to tell the story. At one point, Clara slipped into the room, crossing her arms and listening intently.

"Crowley – I don't even know what to say to you," Sam started.

"I understand," Clara said softly.

"You do?" Sam and Crowley asked, both shocked.

"Crowley, you've known her for a week. She's known you for years. And yet somehow you seem to know her – really know her – as well as she knows you."

"She called it imprinting," Crowley muttered.

"Right. You didn't mean for it to happen, but it did." She slipped her palm into Sam's hand. "Like someone else I know." She looked at Sam. "We're not parents, Sam. That's our daughter, but we didn't raise her. We aren't her parents. We haven't been yet. Maybe never will be. It's not our decision who she falls in love with, or who falls in love with her."

Sam looked frustrated. Finally, he looked at Crowley. "Tell me one thing; before you had the human blood – did you know? Before you got your emotions back, did you know?"

"Yes," Crowley sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Yes, Moose, I knew that I bloody loved her, alright? It was a stupid accident."

"Fine," Sam said stiffly, and with that he left the room. Clara lingered for a moment before followed.

Crowley laced his hands together over Amelia's, and he sighed, laying his head on them.

* * *

><p>"I don't know what to do, Dean."<p>

"I don't know what to tell you to do, man."

"Do I . . . do I kick his ass?"

"Do you want to?"

Sam glared at his brother, and Dean chuckled. "Alright, alright, stupid question." He sighed. "Well, dude. Sounds like Clara's right. That's your kid in there, but you ain't her parents."

"Yeah . . . yeah I guess so. It's just . . . so weird." Sam shook his head and took a long drink of beer. "What about you? Has your day been crazy?"

"Well, I just found out that the King of Hell if my nephew-in-law."

"Shut up," Sam snorted, shoving his brother in the arm.

Dean grinned and then sobered. "But really, man. Abaddon is dead, Metatron is dead, we have the Master. Moriarty will be an easy kill. After that, we deal with Lucifer, and that's it for that."

Sam nodded, though he still felt unsure.


End file.
